The doors slide open and Melanie Adams steps inside the subway car. She settles in an isolated corner and opens The New York Times. The car is hot, typical for an August morning, and very crowded.
Melanie folds her newspaper in an experienced way, trying to read the blurry words before her. Her body brushes against the synthetic fabric of a man's suit. It sends chills through her. Like her nylon blouse, it seems inappropriate for public dress.
Her nightgowns are of this fabric, she thinks. Suddenly the car stops abruptly. She pulls back, afraid to feel contact with the people around her. She looks quickly about; she is surrounded by men, all concentrating on their morning papers.
Melanie's eyes go back to the article she was reading. It is about birth control. "Only 45% of available methods are being used...." Suddenly she looks up and sees all the men in the subway car naked, their pricks erected and inflamed. She allows her eyes to travel to one man's fly, and as she is watching the thing behind it begins to get larger and larger. Her eyes flash to his face; he is smiling at her knowingly. She turns quickly and leaves the car at the next station, which is not the correct stop for her.
Sighing she takes a scarf from her purse and wipes the perspiration from her face. The subway station is dark, heavy with summer heat. She wishes she could run out an exit and into a cab, but she can't afford it, not unless it's absolutely impossible for her to get on another car. Melanie knows the same thing will happen again. The next car will be full of erected pricks: hot, huge and ready for her tongue and her cunt. She wants all of them, she would like to walk up and down each car, licking, sucking, splitting her cunt's lips open on each one. No preferences.
She sighs, her hands picking at the wet nylon sticking to her body. This was definitely the wrong blouse to wear, she thinks. I've got to go back to the apartment and get some of my clothes, I can't go on like this with one skirt and two blouses.
Ever since she left her husband, Melanie has been in a state of chaos. She doesn't know what she thinks about anything anymore. She can't even organize herself enough to get her own clothes from their apartment.
It's all a joke, she thinks. She wants all of those pricks around her. No preferences. Preference is when you want to live with a man, but fucking is something else. All those ideals I was taught are bullshit. My cunt likes all pricks, I can come with anyone, so why shouldn't I.
But it's not as simple as that. Her desires have been so overwhelming in the past two months since the last bad fight with Tom, her husband, when she left him for good, that she has not had the nerve to go to bed with anyone.
God damn it! Melanie says to herself. All because of my fucking background. I want every man I see, all of them, all at once, everywhere. Maybe then it'll happen to me....
For three years she was married to a jealous maniac. Even though they had discussed it and agreed before marriage to complete freedom, Tom would make a scene whenever he saw her even talking to another man. He would take her home and scream and yell, and in the last six months he even beat her. But he wouldn't fuck her. No, not at all. She didn't have a j good cunt, he had said to her.
The next car rolls in and stops her thoughts. As she walks into the car and men brush by her, she feels very hot. There is no air in the car; it is very crowded. No place to escape. She hangs on to a pole, surrounded. One man is behind her, another on her I right, his back just touching her right breast; two t others are talking together to her left. Melanie wants to slip in between them and have their pricks enter her from both sides, with her mouth on the man to her right and her hands on the man behind. That'll t teach him, she thinks, thinking of her husband. That'll? show him what kind of a cunt I really am.
She feels an orgasm rising in her that she can't stop. She grits her teeth and buries her head in her newspaper again, holding it clumsily, annoying everyone around her. The car is ramming into the station which buries the sounds coming from her clenched! lips. Her cunt opens and closes, the rise and fall of her pleasure begins to envelope her.
Frantically she cannot move, but the crowd jostles her, pushing her out of the car. She is climaxing, so she lets them sweep her along, lovers all, till she is left alone on the station, depleted, exhausted, and ready to scream.
Melanie is dressed like a college girl of the Fifties. Nylon blouse over slim skirt which is too long, hair pinned back in a haphazard manner. She is still wearing her college ring and an old-fashioned wristwatch on her right wrist. Black high-heeled pumps, too used, and black handbag both very practical and very outdated, complete her outfit.
Not a pretty girl, brownette with fair skin and blue eyes, she has never rated much attention from men. However, as she walks up the subway stairs to the exit, several men look her way. Her buttocks move sensuously, and she is walking with her legs apart.
She is walking this way because the wetness between her legs is beginning to run. She looks down hurriedly and sees the cotton fabric of her skirt begin to soil. "Oh, darn," she thinks. "I've got to get into a ladies' john and wipe myself off."
She hesitates before entering the subway toilet, remembering the tales of sexual encounters she's heard about them, turns away and races up the stairs. Gratefully she thinks of the coffee shop on the corner where she picks up her breakfast every morning; she remembers that they have a small toilet in back for emergencies.
Running into the shop, Melanie smiles an appeal to the cashier and asks for use of the toilet. "It's an emergency!" she says, and the grouchy woman nods her head.
She shuts the door hurriedly, pulls down her skirt and puts her hand in the lips of her cunt. The pricks lined up in the subway car come to her mind, and her cunt's lips get wetter and wetter as she fondles them. She kisses all fingers of her hand, wishing as she so often does that her neck were like a swan's so she could reach down and kiss her own cunt and use her own tongue. Only she knows about her dark wet places, those caverns of pleasure that have never been touched by any man. Her cunt becomes stiff now, as stiff as the pricks in her memory. She takes the toilet roll and takes the paper from it. Then she puts the linoleum piece in her mouth, it is cold and dirty, but she licks it, knowing it will never lose its hardness, wishing she could find a prick like it, all her own, always hard.
Her busy lips begin convulsing in her pleasure, her hand is sure and swift, she slows it to prolong the intense pleasure she is feeling. She takes the toilet piece and puts it up there with her hand, then with the other hand she fills her ass with her index finger. Yes, yes, she wishes she were home where she could fill each emptiness with something, like she does so often when she is alone.
Some noises outside the door startle her, and she realizes where she is. She must get out of there. She takes the toilet piece and once more, puts it into her cunt. Yes, it's hard still but not as hard as the lips enclosing it, surrounding it. With her scented moist fingers in her mouth, smelling of her cunt's juices, she begins to have her orgasm.
Her legs go limp and she feels like she will fall into the toilet, into the smelly waters of her piss, and she is glad. She pisses a little again, her warm water exciting her. She feels as if her whole self is going down, down into the waters of the toilet, she feels like she is melting and turning into nothingness.
Then it begins, she puts her hand over her mouth as Tom used to, to soften her sounds. Her whole body convulses and she almost falls into the desirable smelly waters of the toilet. She braces herself against the side of the wall with her head, she is going up, up, now, with all those pricks in her mouth, in her ears, in her cunt, in her ass, in her belly button, everywhere! The mountainous release comes. She screams with muffled sounds, happy for the clatter of dishes and pots outside. Then she lies back exhausted, waiting to catch her breath, finally calming down and breathing regularly.
Her face is covered with sweat. She gets up and rinses it in cold water. Taking a paper towel she wipes it and then uses the towel between her legs trying to wipe up as much of the cunt's saliva as possible. She straightens her clothes, sighing, realizing that she looks like she's been through a wringer.
Straightening her body after quickly combing her hair she opens the door, eyes downcast, not looking at any of the people around her. She leaves the coffee shop and runs hurriedly towards 20 Wall Street and her office.
Melanie is now ready to begin her day.
CHAPTER TWO
As she walks into the office Melanie sees that Ed Feeley is waiting at her desk, tapping his foot. She apologizes for being late and quickly gathers her steno pad, her pencils, and follows him into his office.
Ed Feeley is one of the partners of Feeley, McAssle and Hool, the stockbrokers that Melanie works for. He clears his throat and begins dictating a letter. As Melanie places her pad on her lap, she becomes conscious of the moist spot on her dacron skirt. She covers it with her pad and busily starts scribbling away. But then she begins smelling the undeniable smell of cunt, and her legs squeeze together. She begins to perspire and asks Mr. Feeley to turn up the air conditioner.
"But, my dear, it's full blast," he says and goes on dictating. Hesitating in the middle of his next sentence, his eyes look piercingly in Melanie's direction. Her head is bent intently over her pad, fingers pressed upon pencil, eyes downcast, she is squirming uncomfortably in her seat. Mr. Feeley clears his throat and sits down in his chair. His desk is massive with stock quotations thrown all over it.
"Melanie, will you put your chair a little closer so you can read these figures," he asks her.
Melanie tries to maneuver her chair without taking the pad from the central wet spot on her skirt, which is getting larger. She is sure, too, that it is matched by an even larger spot on her rear and wonders how she'll ever get out of the office. In a clumsy, uncomfortable movement she moves her chair closer to Mr. Feeley's desk.
The door opens suddenly and surprises the two of them. Mr. Feeley's other secretary serves them morning coffee and donuts from the coffee cart. It is customary to have a ten-minute break at this time, but Melanie doesn't dare get up from her chair. Mr. Feeley tells her to relax and answers the phone.
"What, AT&T up five points?" his voice is raised with pleasure. Melanie can see that he is very excited. He runs to the window of his office and looks at the large board in the center of the office; the large quotations on it, glitter in glowing red numbers. He jumps up and down like a child, squealing with pleasure, hops back to his chair and puts the donut on his nose, balancing it with his nose in the hole.
Melanie doesn't laugh, she is still to harassed about the condition of her skirt. She is drinking her coffee when she gets the brilliant idea of spilling some on her skirt. She plans to turn over her coffee cup but the idea of the hot liquid on her body deters her. She is so hot now, she decides to wait till the coffee cools.
Mr. Feeley has opened a large stock quotation sheet on his desk. It covers most of the desk. As he is explain ing the quotations to Melanie she feels his hand reaching under the sheet towards her skirt. She stifles a scream but she cannot get up. She would be too embarrassed walking out of the office in her wet skirt. Mortified, she sits there while Mr. Feeley's left hand crawls up her leg and to the hem of her skirt. While he is doing this, he is talking to her, still dictating the letter he'd begun.
"Put your pad on the desk, Melanie," he suggests. "It'll be more comfortable." She does as she is bidden and then feels his hand on her skirt, covering the wet spot her cunt has created. It feels pleasurable, and Melanie begins to feel the hot blood rising to her head, to her lips and she snuggles more closely under the quotation sheet.
Since she doesn't resist, Mr. Feeley's hand caresses her upper thighs, feeling their warmth, their wetness. Melanie changes pencil from left to right hand and reaches underneath the sheet for Mr. Feeley's cock, it is vibrant and upright and he whispers, "Darling," as she touches it through the silk cloth of his suit.
His fingers are now piercing her nylon panties. He tears a hole easily because they are drenched in her cunt's saliva, then he caresses the wet lips of her cunt, and it speaks back to him, sighing, caring.
Melanie meanwhile is opening the zipper leading to Mr. Feeley's tool. Suddenly the phone rings, and she is brought back to their surroundings. She looks outside the window of the office but no one seems to notice them. She realizes that she has often looked at executives and their stenographers in much the same pose. She wonders with a giggle whether any of them ever did these same things.
Mr. Feeley ignores the phone and takes her hand and places it on his cock again. She begins to caress it, cuddle it, manipulate it as she would a mixture for a cake, she might be baking, softly, seriously. As the soft wad gets hard again, she hears him sigh.
Meanwhile in her cunt, the lips are getting stiffer, the cunt's throb begins to quicken, she raises her hips up and then sits on his hand, so he can now explore the softness behind the cunt; he pierces a finger into her asshole.
She is uncomfortable, but as he moves the finger around she sits forward in her seat, sitting on the tip of the chair to give him room to pierce. Then she feels his other hand come round and grab her cunt and she is filled with hard fingers in front and behind. She is coming to orgasm now, her fingers trembling as she attempts to write the words he is uttering. With "Sincerely Yours," Melanie comes and drops her pencil. Mr. Feeley bends down to pick it up and takes the opportunity to put his lips on her throbbing cunt.
"Oh, my God," Melanie exclaims and wonders what she should do.
The phone rings again and Mr. Feeley gets up from the floor where he has been nuzzling Melanie. When he answers it he finds that Allied Chemical has gone up fifteen points.
When he slams down the phone he is smiling broadly from cheek to cheek. Melanie catches his spirit of joy, also noticing that Mr. Feeley's cock is so big it looks like it's going to burst through his tight European-cut pants.
Mr. Feeley grabs Melanie and puts his fist up her cunt. She is so surprised by his quick action she overturns her pad and the coffee spills on her skirt. Hav ing solved her problem of the explanation of the spots on her skirt Melanie gathers up her things and quickly exits from Mr. Feeley's office. As the glass door swings shut she catches sight of him settling comfortably under another stock quotation sheet and calling for another stenographer. Shaking her head, she wonders whether Mr. Feeley dictates his letters only in this manner.
Hurrying to the ladies toilet she tries to wash out the coffee stains but it does not help. She explains her problem to Miss Sweeter, her supervisor, and is excused to go home.
Remembering her difficult trip to work, Melanie treats herself to the luxury of a taxi. Settling back she wonders when all this chaos is going to end, for Melanie is sure that what happened in Mr. Feeley's office was her fault. The one thing she doesn't want to do right now is look for another job-not with another apartment to find. She is living temporarily with Gloria Slowcome, a college friend, and sleeping on the living room couch in Gloria's East 36th Street apartment.
She lets herself into the apartment, quickly undressing throwing her skirt and wet blouse on the floor. Shoes slip off, Melanie is standing there in her bra and panties when the phone rings. She does not answer it since she figures it is Tom her husband. She knows he's probably called the office and learned that she had gone home. Gloria is working so there is no reason for anyone to call her.
She begins running a shower and steps into the cold splash. She raises her face to the spout, swallowing large gulps of water, closing her eyes with pleasure. The water's drops cover her body and she feels re freshed and clean again. Then she steps out of the shower, takes a large towel, enfolds herself within it and runs across the bare floor to the bedroom. She intends to take a nap, exhausted from all the happenings of the morning.
She lies on the bed. It is not made properly, so she decides that Gloria is really a slob. Then she closes her eyes and tries to nap.
She falls asleep almost at once, dreaming she is in a Persian palace, sleeping in one of the bedrooms. Many veils surround her bed, swaying softly in the subtle breeze of early afternoon. Suddenly from behind each one of the veils a man appears, there are nine veils in all, and nine men, every size, shape and age. She looks up at them. She can choose any one of them for her pleasure, she knows that, but she wants all of them, together, not one at a time. Frustrated, she stands up on the bed and pulls the veils from the hooks above, revealing that she is alone.
But now Melanie feels a hand moving down her back and hears someone saying, "Don't move, don't move." Melanie is fully awake and realizes that someone is in the bed with her. But who?
She tries to turn but to no avail, two huge hands are on her buttocks, firmly holding them, and she feels a man's prick being forced into her ass. She screams in pain for she is not ready for him and feels kisses rained upon her back, upon her neck. Then she relaxes, eyes closed and tries to take part in the action.
The cock is forcing itself into her again. She raises her buttocks to meet her unknown bedmate. As she does, he inserts himself deeper and deeper into her. Then she feels two hands searching for her cunt, and she hears a sigh as they feel the wetness that has appeared there. The hands caress her, sliding into the voluminous chasm which knows no boundaries. The same hands pick her buttocks up gently, and insert the same cock into her cunt. Her breasts are being kneaded, quietly, quickly, then more roughly.
Melanie is beside herself. She tries to turn to see who her unknown partner is, but cannot. The hands on her small breasts are picking at the nipples, and the cock is being pumped into her more furiously now. She begins to scream, convulsively, uproariously, as the room turns red and breaks into little daisies of a hot pink color, and Melanie screams again and then slumps in a dead faint.
CHAPTER THREE
The phone's ringing wakes Melanie. She hears tinkling laughter and Gloria's voice saying she has gone to a cocktail party and cannot reach Steve, her fiance, who has left his office.
"Could you tell him to wait for me?" she asks. "I won't be too long. I'm a little tipsy. But don't tell Steve that," she giggles and hangs up.
Gloria Slowcome is a petite blonde from Alabama. At college she was known as the sexiest girl in school. In her second year she met Steve Reardone, a law student. Gloria is pretty faithful to Steve; they plan to get married but must wait until Steve passes his Bar Exams, which hopefully will be next year. Gloria is hot and ready for excitement whenever she can get it. She wants to marry Steve but she's bored by the routine and regularity of their dates so she has become a cock teaser at parties, flirting outrageously with every man around with no intention of following through on the flirtation.
Melanie has begun to despise Gloria's flirtations. If there is a man around Gloria has to assure herself that he wants her, and then she drops him. It's as if the sexual act is in the asking and not in the doing. Melanie has known lots of girls like that; she herself never was for she was too shy. Now Melanie thinks of herself as very neurotic for she gets turned on so often and by everything.
When Gloria takes a shower for instance, and stands around naked, Melanie feels her cunt reacting. Gloria has the most beautiful thighs and legs in the world. Her waist is small and so are her breasts, making her very fashionable, but her legs and thighs are exquisitely beautiful. When she sits around with her short skirts, her legs encased in lovely patterned stockings of all colors, Melanie has to get up and leave the room.
No other girl has made Melanie feel this way. She wonders if she is a latent homosexual, but, thinks not, because she has hoped very often that Steve is good in bed with Gloria. She knows from the pouts and silences on Saturday and Sunday morning at breakfast, that all must not be too good in their sexual bed. But she tries not to hang around too often at those times, after all, she is staying there out of Gloria's generosity and she doesn't want to press it.
Melanie gets up from Gloria's bed and suddenly the memory of what happened that afternoon comes back to her. She looks around the apartment hurriedly and there is no one there. But when she checks the door she sees that it is not locked. Who could have been there? Was it a prowler? One of the repairmen for the house? She makes a cup of coffee, puts her Japanese robe on, the one that was a gift from Bob, her brother, when he returned from his army tour of duty in the Orient. It is black, simple and goes very well with her brown hair. She is wearing no makeup now and her hair, instead of being tightly pinned back as she usually wears it, is long and hanging on her shoulders. With no accessories and jewelry, Melanie is almost pretty.
Her face has a quality which looks better unaided, but Melanie is not aware of this yet and uses the traditional makeup of lipstick and powder. The current mode of the natural look has not touched her; she is still living in the Fifties. She has never really studied herself, thinking of herself as unattractive.
Melanie's Aunt Hester permitted no mirrors in the house, she was so religious. Melanie always dressed without a reflection to guide her and looked like a potpourri of different colors. The other girls at school, especially the chic girls-and there were many because the small town in Connecticut where she lived was bordered by wealthy estates-would laugh at her. Melanie remembered her childhood as very unhappy.
And there were never any men around. Her father had gone off somewhere when her mother died. Aunt Hester permitted no men in the house. When repairmen or delivery men had to cross over the threshold of the entrance door, Aunt Hester would have Matilda, the cook, deal with them and she kept Melanie in her room with her.
Sighing, Melanie put down her cup of coffee and made herself a stiff martini. She makes it with vodka; it is a habit she has developed since leaving Tom.
She hears the doorbell ring and thinks it's probably Steve. Catching a brief look at herself in the glass, she sees that her body looks softer in this robe and her breasts look fuller than usual, making their presence known through the light cheap silk of the robe.
She answers the door with her drink in her hand. "Hi, Steve. Gloria will be late. Something about an office party," she half-lies.
"Oh?" Steve looks puzzled. "She didn't mention it when we had lunch."
Melanie smiles at the constancy of these two people. It's as if they can't admit they find each other boring until they're married, she thinks. "Well, would you like a drink while we wait?" she asks. Steve starts to refuse, and then looks up at her, taking in the robe, her breasts, her nonchalance. For the first time since she has been staying there, he is aware that she is a good-looking girl behind the glasses, the earrings and the clothes.
"Yes," he answers and sits down.
As she mixes his drink Melanie feels her cunt moistening. She sighs and remembers what happened earlier. She remembers the utter ecstasy of the cock entering her, the saliva drips down her inner leg. Stirring Steve's martini quickly, Melanie tries to put her thoughts out of mind.
Steve, waiting for her, remembers Gloria's tales about the marks on Melanie's back. I wonder what it would be like to beat a girl, he muses. I wonder whether she likes it, and who beat her.
When she returns he accepts the drink and asks if she would mind his removing his coat and tie.
"Not at all," Melanie replies. "Make yourself comfortable."
"It's so hot and muggy," he says apologetically.
"Yes," she agrees. "Do you want to watch television or something?"
"Not really," Steve says, "but don't let me keep you."
"Oh, I have nothing to do but read a book," she replies, smiling. Melanie is beginning to feel the moistness again, and she begins to think about Steve's prick. She has never thought of him in a sexual way before.
She swallows two huge gulps of her martini, nervously lights a cigarette and sits on her bed, the studio couch. As she does this, the Japanese gown falls open to reveal two fragile legs.
Steve cannot take his eyes off the crack just suggested where the robe meets. Gloria is blonde and so is her cunt. Steve has not gone to bed with any black-haired white woman. The Puerto Rican and Negro whores he is fond of looking up after a night out with the boys are the only women he has seen black hair on. He wonders how the black hair would look against white skin. Melanie is very fair and although her hair is brown, he has heard that the cunt's hair is always a shade darker.
She raises her leg as she leans back on the couch's pillows. "Yes, it is hot," she says. "Why don't you come over here, and put your hand up my ass?" she asks.
As soon as she has said it, she gasps, not believing her own words. But Steve has sprung up and begins to take his pants off. "Wait a second," Melanie snarls as he tries to jump on top of her. I said put your hand up my ass, nothing else. Put your pants on ... Gloria might come in any minute."
Steve looks at her for a minute then decides she is right and begins to pull on his pants. He sits beside her without zipping up his fly for his penis has swollen. His hand seems swollen too as he shoves it into the crack he has been studying from across the room.
Melanie kisses him, her tongue darting in and out of his mouth. His heart begins to beat faster and faster, his fingers are now pushed all the way into that black cunt; they are sure and swift, not at all like they are with Gloria.
"You're so wonderful," he murmurs.
She sighs and asks, "Does Gloria feel this way?"
His hand stops moving as he answers. "Well, not exactly."
She realizes he does not want to think about Gloria now, and opens her legs wide. He groans and bends over to put his mouth on her cunt. "Nice black curi't," he says. "Nice pussy!" She grabs his hair as his tongue darts in and out of the lips of her cunt. She lays back and prays: Oh, God, don't let him stop, please don't. Melanie feels like he is enveloping her with his tongue, like it will soon touch every part of her insides, sweeping away all desire, leaving nothing.
"Oh, God, Melanie," he moans.
"Yes, sweet man," she answers. Now she moves her cunt up and into his mouth, his hand has crept around to her ass. His fingers are climbing into the narrow passage, into the parts of her unknown world.
"Ohhhhhhhh," she sighs and grabs his swollen cock. She bends over and her mouth goes over it, all of it, drinking in the sweat of his desire. She moves her mouth back and forth over it, licking the balls hidden behind, darting her tongue when he darts his, between the mouth of his penis.
She puts both her arms around him, encouraging the pants to loosen, finally finding his asshole, she puts her fingers into it as he is doing to her. I have a penis, she thinks, and it's in your asshole as yours is in mine.
Melanie can't get enough of his cock, wanting to swallow it whole and at the same time wishing she had another. When will I be satisfied with one man, she thinks. When will I have the Big Orgasm?
Her thoughts go back to her unknown lover that afternoon. She had a big orgasm, all right, so big she had fainted in her intensity. But was that the real one? The one she so craved?
They both hear a sound outside the door and sit upright quickly. Steve fixes his clothes,, and she pulls her robe very tightly around her. After some fumbling with keys, Gloria walks into the room just as Steve is rising, a glass in hand.
"Hi," she says, and they both realize she is tipsy. "I went to a lovely party, darling," she says to her fiance. She follows him into the kitchen and Melanie hears the smacking sounds of Gloria's very loud kisses.
She hears some whispered words and then no more sounds until the creaking sound of the door to the bedroom being closed pierces the silence. Well, she says to herself. There are muffled sounds, so Melanie gets up and turns on the television set to drown them out. Then she goes into the kitchen and makes herself another drink, stiffer this time.
Life is so funny, she thinks, you can't even have what you don't really want. Wagon Train has flashed on the screen and sipping her drink Melanie sits there until she falls asleep.
She is awakened by a hand moving down her back. It's him again, she thinks to herself anxiously, thinking of that afternoon.
"Don't move, don't move," she hears Steve's whispering and realizes he is on her back trying to insert his penis. Wagon Train has not ended, and there is a gun fight going on. She smiles to herself realizing he has been with Gloria for less than an hour.
"What are you doing with that cock?" she demands of Steve.
"Please, Melanie, please let me, let me."
"What's the matter, didn't you get enough inside?"
"Gloria's drunk; she's passed out."
Melanie feels spiteful. She asks him, "Well, what happened before she did?"
"I don't want to talk about that," he replies. Melanie tightens her legs and begins to sit up. "I want to hear what happened behind that door, baby, or cock won't get to play."
"Where did you learn that language?" Steve asks. "From my husband. When he took my virginity," she answers bitterly.
"Okay," he surrenders. "What do you want to know?" Picking her glass from the table, he swallows two stiff mouthfuls. "Oh, this is finished. I'll make us some more."
"Give us a taste first," she says, sticking her tongue at him. He opens his mouth, and their tongues play with each other. They feel each other; his hand is in her cunt already, and she has already felt her two favorite places: his marvelous ass and his cock.
"Let me taste you," she says. "Turn over."
"What?" Steve is surprised but does what she asks. "Now talk," she says as she puts her tongue up his ass, holding on to his cock, rubbing it and feeling its throbs.
"Well, I made love to her and came, that's all," Steve says.
Melanie stops for a moment. "What else?" she asks. "Did she come too?"
"No, Gloria never-" he stops himself. "Gloria never really comes as far as I can see. She says she does, but she doesn't sound to me like other women sound."
Melanie stops again. "What other women?" she asks.
Steve has come to the end of his patience. He turns her around and inserts his cock into Melanie, and begins to rhythmically move it in and out, side to side.
"What other women?" she asks again.
"Those, those marvelous black-haired cunts, like you!" he answers between gasps.
Melanie is surprised but now the throbbing of his cock has commanded her silence. She feels her insides wet with desire for him. This is what I've been looking for, she thinks: pure pleasure and nothing else. It is the first time she has gone to bed with a girlfriend's boyfriend.
She can't help it, but her body waits for the withdrawal of his cock, like Tom. Tom would excite her beyond belief then stop. He would say it was because he wanted to go on forever, but she privately thought the excitement stopped him because he was afraid he would never continue. Then Tom would simply go into her once more, come and that was that. He would "finish" her, as he called it with his hands. Those were the crudest beatings before he actually beat her physically.
But Steve does not stop, he twirls her body so it pivots only on the upper portion of her back, inserting his cock each time, deeper and deeper, thrusting in and out. She pivots to meet his thrusts, till she feels her toes nearly touch the ceiling. Steve entwines her legs around his neck and gets up. Now she is floating in midair with his cock in her. He puts his leg up on the couch, balancing her back on it so that he can continue to thrust with emphasis. He leans forward and puts a breast in his mouth, sighing and cursing when it drops out. Melanie pulls him down to catch his mouth in the middle of a curse, stopping-him with her tongue.
"Steve fucks pretty," she says. "Like me?"
"Oh, baby," he answers and nibbles at her throat.
Now back on the couch, he is on top of her. She is completely covered by him, every part of her body touched by part of his. She feels herself diminished as he keeps thrusting his big magnificent cock into the wet lips of her cunt. Cunt food, she thinks. Good old-fashioned cunt food.
Her pleasure is beginning as it had only happened once before that afternoon. Her muscles contract, and each little inch begins a convulsion all its own. She is going to scream, and she won't stop.
Then she begins. She feels it start from the innermost part of her body Steve is touching. He seems larger and larger inside of her, swelling almost to fill her whole being. Each time he touches her she begins coming, tiny screams at first until she feels he will burst her insides. Then comes a long languorous scream to end all screams ... but it is not the ending. Scream, scream, SCREAM! SCREAM!
"My God," he says in her ear. She is drenched with sweat, and so is he. He slips out of her because of the wetness.
"Put it back," she pleads and reaches down to grab his feverous organ, leading it back the fiery path to the forest that is aflame.
"I can't come," he says, thrusting again and again. "I'm too excited."
She doesn't care because the screams begin again. All of a sudden he stops. It takes her a few minutes to calm down and open her sweaty eyes, clenched with the urgency of her screams. She sees that he is looking up beyond her.
She turns her head and looks into her roommate's face.
CHAPTER FOUR
"May I join in the fun?" Gloria asks, tossing her robe aside.
Steve lies back and looks at her. She crawls on the inside of the couch and kisses him drunkenly.
"I don't like everyone else having fun without me," she says spitefully. Then she switches her gaze to Melanie. She is taking Melanie apart with her eyes, examining every part of her body, comparing. "You see, Steve, it is black," she says, obviously referring to a conversation they've had. "Is it larger than mine, or smaller, Steve? Does it feel better?"
Steve groans and sits up, lighting a cigarette. "Hey, wait a minute," he says, "this is getting out of hand."
Gloria takes the cigarette out of his hand and puts the same hand into her crotch. Then she bends over and puts her mouth on his cock, teasing it and sucking it.
"Which feels better, Steve?" she asks between mouthfuls.
He grabs her head and begins kissing her pouting lips, swearing that she is his. Then Gloria goes back to sucking Steve's cock, oblivious to everything he wants to do.
"Taste good?" Melanie asks, the first words she's spoken.
"Ummmmmmm," comes from Gloria's busy mouth.
"Use your tongue more, it's more exciting," Melanie advises spitefully.
Gloria sinks her teeth into Steve's cock and sends his jumping.
"I'm sorry, darling," she says, looking at Melanie jealously. "Come back, here, baby," she coos to Steve.
He colors and says, "Let me put it in, huh, honey? Please?"
Melanie can't believe the tone of Steve's voice, he is so child-like, so pleading, not at all like he's been with her.
Gloria looks up at him and smiles, "I'm not finished yet," she says, "You know that!" referring to the rules of their game."
"You can put it in here," Melanie volunteers, pointing to her black cunt, but Steve doesn't move.
"Well!" says Melanie, to Gloria, "what happens now? I'm bored."
Gloria is feeling very much the director in the bed. She turns to Melanie and commands her. "Lie back, I've always wanted to taste a girl's cunt."
"Not unless I can have Steve's cock right afterwards," Melanie bargains.
"All right," Gloria smiles, and she puts her tongue up Melanie's cunt. Her tongue is too thin for Melanie after Steve's cock and Melanie is very annoyed with this mild action. She reaches over above Gloria's head and kisses Steve, trying to raise his interest, but he is not moved. Finally, she bends over Gloria and reaches down to Steve's cock. He reacts then and his cock erupts with the white flowing sperm which Melanie drinks thirstily.
Then Melanie moves her cunt away from Gloria's tongue and climbs on top of Steve, putting the still-enlarged cock into her.
"What a cock!" she says, mostly to herself.
"Hey, what about me?" she hears Gloria ask.
"You can have my ass to kiss, baby," Melanie says spitefully.
Steve kisses her lips, his tongue again entwined with hers, and begins a cradling action with his body and Melanie feels as if she were being cradled to heaven. She relaxes and allows him complete freedom with her body. Gloria's tongue tantalizes her ass, and her arms encircle Melanie. She is feeling Melanie's breasts, holding on to her nipples stubbornly.
Melanie's legs seem to enlarge to encircle Steve's body and soon she forgets where she is. She just tunes into the movement and presence of his body. Finally, his cock seems to reach all the way up to her mouth, and she hears herself screaming, screaming and not stopping. Steve screams too, this time, and they embrace each other until their screams end. Happily they lay back, exhausted.
Gloria begins kissing their bodies, her tongue everywhere.
"Please touch me?" she pleads to both of them. Steve pulls her on top of him and puts his hand on her cunt, playing with it in a familiar way. Melanie lights a cigarette and watches them disinterestedly but looking for any rise in his cock. But Steve's cock stays small.
Soon Gloria is uttering sighs, gasps, cursing; cock, fuck, die, but Steve's cock still does not rise.
Melanie gets up from the bed and goes into the kitchen. She needs a drink, she thinks and prepares three martinis, figuring she'd be kind to her roommate. When she carries the drinks back to the bed, she realizes that Steve's cock is still small and unresponsive.
Melanie announces the drinks and Steve reaches for one thirstily. But Gloria does not stop; she is scratching Steve's back, biting his flesh, uttering tiny giggles, flirting with him with her eyes. Steve sits there, drinking the martini slowly, not reacting.
Melanie puts her glass down and moves closer to Steve. She spreads her fingers on her cunt, opening the lips. Then she says to Steve, provocatively, "Nice black cunt. Nice black pussy wants that...." She points to his cock which is now rising quickly. He jumps over to Melanie and puts his fat cock into her cunt, thrusting in and out, furiously.
Melanie raises her legs, and Steve murmurs sighs of pleasure.
"How do you do that?" she hears Gloria question, but no one pays attention to her. Soon Steve's cock is buried deep within Melanie, her legs are reaching for the ceiling, he searches deeper and deeper into her cunt.
She feels as if her cunt were a massive planet, and Steve's cock were a spaceship, flying out to meet the heavenly body. In their meeting, a pivot action takes place triggered off from inside the ship, so that the ship will not go past the universal body, she knows, but will explore all its regions, kneading, pulling, pushing, feeling, and her universal body can contain its action, wanting to be explored. Only in this action can she know the true outer regions of her interior.
Steve puts his hand on Melanie's abdomen and in a kneading action she has never felt before he begins to caress her slowly on the lower part with his right hand, still fucking her with his cock. She feels the cock has now turned into a rocket, and is going trillions of miles into her at great speed; she gasps at the quickness of its flight and moans for the rocket to explode; she needs it to explode, wants it to.
But it does not and she begs for it, "Please, please," she says to Steve.
Steve grunts and kneads her abdomen again, creating feelings Melanie has not had before. This time she wants not only every prick she sees, but everything: brooms, candles, frankfurters, anything that will fill the deep empty chasm that Steve is traveling through. She feels herself wide open, a universal space, and knows that she can contain anything!
Steve lies on his side and turns Melanie with him, and she realizes that they are both dripping with her cunt's saliva; it is on their bodies, on the studio couch cover; it has smelled up the room. Steve says, "You're drowning me! I can't swim!"
Then a tongue is licking her ass and Melanie feels annoyed. "Go get something," she says to Gloria and soon she is being pierced from behind by the handle of a screwdriver. Gloria is finally getting the idea and softly kneads Melanie's ass; the wetness of the cunt spreading over everything makes it easier for her to manipulate the hard tool.
Steve begins pumping away, and soon Melanie is in ecstatic splendor, Steve's rocket in her, fiery, swift, large, and the hard substance of Gloria's tool, hurting, fucking her in the ass.
She begins to come, the rocket ship also rising with her ascent. She hears Gloria's gasping from behind and Steve's murmured moans near her ear. She reaches out and grabs Gloria's cunt, thinking more kindly of her now, kneading it gently, hating its tightness, and brings Steve's hands there too, and they both caress the little cunt. Soon Gloria is moaning, and Melanie removes her hand to put it in Steve's mouth, he tastes his girlfriend's cunt and pumps even more furiously, and Melanie knows that soon the rocket will go off.
Then she hears the beginnings of a whimper from Gloria, puts her lips on Steve's mouth and gives into the exquisite pleasure filling her body. Steve, too, begins to release, and Melanie is shot inside her universal body, electricity going through her body, to spread fire all over her, and she begins to come again. Again, again, again, and again, her voice long ago turned into breathless gasps.
He thrusts once again, and somehow a long scream is uttered from a part of her body she cannot identify; it is a loud high scream and one of which she is not in control. Melanie thinks if he continues she may have The Big O she strives for, but Steve lies back, exhausted, depleted and fulfilled and Melanie tries to rest, regretful that he has not gone on.
Steve kisses her body, licking some of the perspiration off it and asks Gloria for a towel. They all three wipe themselves off.
Steve is sitting there adoring Melanie's body so Gloria begins pouting. Melanie sees that there will be a lover's quarrel. Feeling herself the victor in the situation, she gets up from bed, and heads for the shower, to rinse off her body and refresh herself.
"I must go see Dr. Hornblown tomorrow morning," Melanie thinks as she steps out of the shower.
Melanie is from a Connecticut Protestant background. When she decided to undergo analysis she felt something extreme was needed. Then she read about the muscular emphasis in Reique therapy, and she was immediately attracted to it.
After some inquiry she learned that Dr. Arthur Hornblown was one of the most prominent men in the city. She decided to use her small trust fund to pay for her very expensive therapy, and live on her salary.
She fell fast asleep while Gloria and Steve were out to dinner. They try to awaken her when they return, but she is sleeping soundly, her sexual activity a good sleeping potion.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next morning she hurries to keep her eight am appointment with the doctor. His offices are on East 74th Street, in an old townhouse a wealthy client has donated. She enters the familiar waiting room, neither turning right or left and heads for the bathroom where she usually waits for the little bell announcing the doctor's availability. She is a bit late so the bell sounds off before she closes the door.
"Ah, good morning, Melanie, my dear." Dr. Hornblown is waiting. He is wearing a Japanese robe much like the one Melanie wore last night.
"I have something wonderful to tell you, doctor," she says.
"Ahh, you have succeeded," he smiles, winking his eye.
"With who?"
"Almost."
"Well-that's the point. It was with Steve and my roommate.
"Were you attracted to her?"
"No-but you know how I feel about the way she looks. She's so different than me," Melanie says. As she is talking, Melanie has been undressing. She is now standing naked before the doctor, except for her shoes. She looks down at her body; she has no waistline to speak of and although her hips are not large, she gives an attractive appearance.
"Did you have an orgasm?" he questions, opening bottles on the table near his chair.
"Yes."
"The big one you dream about?"
"No-not that one. I still wanted another man when I was finished, as usual."
Melanie has presented Dr. Hornblown with a unique problem. Having experienced what appears to be an unforgettable orgasm under drugs, she has given him the opportunity to work out one of his major theories.
Reique did not believe that any stimulation except natural energy is truly sexual. Dr. Hornblown is out to prove that Melanie can have orgasms in the same way, without any help except for what is natural.
She lies down on the couch and he begins to massage her buttocks.
"There. Can you feel the tingling sensations beginning from the tips of my fingers to the tips of your flesh?"
"Yes, doctor," Melanie murmurs.
His hands get bolder and swifter and stake out a larger course. He is now massaging the small of her back, then up to her shoulders, then down toward her legs.
"Relax, my dear," he says. "Relax."
Dr. Hornblown can feel his cock getting bigger and bigger as it does with each patient, male and female. Ah, God's natural energy, he thinks. I am so blessed. He bends over Melanie so she can feel his prick swelling.
Melanie has been seeing him for six months but can remember nothing of the sessions except that when she leaves, she feels a lot better.
Dr. Hornblown requires her to concentrate totally, hypnotizing her with pleasure until she loses consciousness. He now turns her over to massage her breasts with the perfumed oils he has taken from the bottles. Melanie writhes in ecstasy, her legs opening, her breathing getting louder and deeper. Dr. Hornblown quietly takes his robe off, he poises himself on top of Melanie, inserts his swollen cock and fucks her. He fucks her for an hour.
Melanie all this time has her eyes closed in a trance. She does' not come but the good doctor does, many times. When he is finally finished he puts his robe on and lies beside Melanie. Then he begins to awaken her. With his hand on her cunt, manipulating, massaging her, she begins to awaken to this heavenly bliss.
"Oh, doctor, it's much better today, I can feel all of my cells awakening. It's just like I've been fucking for hours."
He hides a smile as he counsels her to relax.
"There, there, dear. Once you're free from the inner tension in your muscles, there's no telling what your body can do on its own. I promise you, you will have ... he pauses for a moment, "everything you want."
Melanie turns towards him, resisting the temptation to kiss him. It takes all her muscle control. This is one of his principles; he has taught her that the body can relax and have pleasure, producing much needed energy, without there being any feeling of personal love.
"Purity of sexual energy; food for the mind and body," he repeats. "Ah, now it is time," he says.
She hears his outer door open and knows another patient is waiting.
"How do you feel?" he asks gently.
"Heavenly," she sighs. She begins dressing as the doctor continues to speak to her.
"You see how far we've gone already? Remember the first month when you found it impossible to undress before me? We had to have a screen for you and the lights had to be out."
"Yes," she agrees quietly.
"Doesn't it feel better to be able to throw off your clothes, to have the freedom to walk around naked?
"Yes," Melanie continues to agree. She is now fully dressed and is aware of the anxiety feeling beginning. When her session is over, Melanie usually gets very tense, jealous of the mysterious patients awaiting her doctor outside. It is much like the way she felt every time her husband left her alone at the beginning of her marriage. She decides to tell Dr. Hornblown about this feeling, having kept it from him until this moment.
"Doctor-doctor, I have something to tell you ... do we have time?"
"Not really, Melanie. Perhaps tomorrow." Dr. Hornblown has already capped his perfume bottles and is beginning to prepare himself for his next patient, a Mrs. Rudworthy, a wealthy matron from Park Avenue. He has many plans for her treatment. He grunts satisfactorily.
"I-I think it's important," Melanie states definitely.
"All right Melanie-but we mustn't be too selfish. What is it?"
"Every time I leave your office I feel a little off balance, like my feet are precariously on the ground. Is it jealousy?" she asks.
Dr. Hornblown is smiling. All of his patients feel this way, and he knows why.
"It's only because your sexual energy has been revitalized, and it takes a little while for it to adjust itself," he lies.
"But what about...."
"What's wrong, Melanie?"
"About Gloria. Does this mean I ... you know."
"Darling girl," he says impatiently, taking her shoulders in his firm grip. "Sometimes in our pursuit of sexual freedom with the opposite sex, our sexual attractions overlap into our own sex. It's nothing to worry about, I do not think you are homosexual if that's what you mean. I just think that your Protestant upbringing-along with your schooling and cultural environment-and, of course, the asexuality of your husband, has produced a block ... a block to complete sexual freedom. Be thankful, though," he continues, "that you know it is a block. Most people never even realize that these days."
Melanie ponders his statements, and she knows they are true. All her college friends are now either married, leading a conventional suburban life with the proper kind of job and friends, or have completely rebelled into the hippie drug culture which is utterly disgusting to her.
There must be somewhere in between, she thinks sadly, I must find it! Perhaps I'll be the lucky one to succeed.
Melanie gratefully gives Dr. Hornblown a check for twenty-five dollars for the session.
As she leaves his office, she feels ecstatic and she heads for an afternoon of shopping. Her boss, Ed Feeley has invited her to a party tonight. "For just a few friends," he had said over the phone a few days ago. She was not sure whether she should go after what happened in the office with the quotation sheets, but now, upon leaving Dr. Hornblown, she is filled with a new confidence. She wants to buy a new dress for the party.
Since Melanie left her husband she has gained a little weight and her figure seems to look rounder, so she finally chooses an expensive, low cut, black silk dress, to show off her new figure.
The dress is Grecian in design and she decides to have her hair done in the same mode, swept up with curls. As she leaves the beauty salon, the operator confides that she looks wonderful and advises her not to use any accessories for her magnificent hairdo is sufficient.
When she arrives back at the apartment she is grateful that no one is there. She has dinner alone then begins dressing. When she is almost finished she hears Gloria and Steve entering. She has not seen them since the previous night, having left that morning before they awakened.
She quickly gets into her dress and decides to mix a martini. With her drink in hand she joins them in the living room. They are arguing, and Gloria looks very cross.
"Hi," Melanie says, smiling at Steve provocatively.
Steve looks up and whistles. "Wow! You look great! Guess I'm a beauty lotion or something," he jokes.
Gloria gives him a dirty look and hastily blurts, "Steve! Stop that! We said we'd forget it."
Melanie sits down facing them. She sits with her legs wide open, her legs are encased in lovely lacepatterned black stockings and her dress is quite short. Steve can't take his eyes off her, remembering that dark secret spot, hidden to him now, where his cock entered her again and again. He begins perspiring and removes his jacket.
"It's hot in here," he explains to Gloria apologetically. She is glaring at him, and he realizes, after he has removed his jacket, that his cock is swollen and is bursting through his tight slacks, so he walks into the kitchen to mix two drinks for Gloria and himself.
When he returns he sits back facing Melanie. He cannot take his eyes off her and sheepishly grins at her.
Gloria took the drink from him without saying a word. Her eyes are smarting now, and she gives Melanie an ugly look.
Stupid cunt, Melanie thinks. She doesn't really want his cock, but she doesn't want anyone else to want it either. Melanie is convinced that all Gloria wants from Steve is a marriage contract, a luxurious apartment, and a place to put her identity: Mrs. Steve Reardone in the social columns.
Gloria speaks to Melanie: "I think it's best if you look around for another place to live," she commands.
Melanie is now a little high from the martini. "Why?" she asks. "We're all still friends, aren't we?" Gloria looks at her defiantly. "I don't like girls who run after other girls' boyfriends."
Melanie is tempted to utter a rebuff. As long as she has known her, Gloria has been known to all their friends, as a cock teaser. No man has been safe, not even her college friends' fathers.
"Gee ... I'm sorry," Melanie answers shyly. "But I thought you enjoyed it and that we'd do it again real soon."
Gloria gets a funny look on her face. "I did ... but nothing happened ... to me I mean."
Steve gets up and sits next to Gloria, putting his arm around her. "Darling, I love you, you know that. Bat there's no reason why we can't enjoy several kinds of sex ... and if we're lucky enough to meet someone like Melanie ... what's wrong, sweetheart?" he whines.
"Would you like to come to a party?" Melanie is surprised at her own voice inviting them but she is enjoying Gloria's discomfort too much and wants it to continue.
"Where?" Steve asks excitedly. "I'd love it! We have nothing to do tonight."
"Okay ... but you have to pay the price of admission." Melanie is higher now from the drink and feels floaty.
"What is it?" Steve asks.
"I'd like to watch you two fuck."
"No!" Gloria says immediately.
"With you, you mean?" Steve asks happily.
"No. Just you two-alone. I'd just like to sit here and watch."
Steve looks at Gloria. "Come on honey, don't be chicken. Call her bluff."
"All right," Gloria agrees defiantly.
They both undress and lie on the couch. Steve puts his hand up Gloria's crotch; she is giving him instructions all the time. "A little to the left; in the middle. Yes, darling, that's right."
Melanie is smiling to herself from her observing position. After a few minutes of Steve's hand in her, Gloria lets out a girlish squeak, and there is some conversation about Steve's going into her. As he does, Melanie gets up from her chair, picks up her purse, and walks out of the room.
Well. I'll really have to find an apartment now, she thinks. They'll never leave me alone. But that's always the way it's been. If Tom hadn't beat me I would never have left him. If it hadn't been for LSD I would never have known The Big O; I wouldn't be searching for it. And now if Gloria and I had not become enemies, I would never have left the apartment.
What's the matter with me? I'm always a victim of circumstances!
Sighing heavily, thankful that at least she had her session today, she hails a cab and is on her way to lower Fifth Avenue to Ed Feeley's address.
Leaning back in the cab she thinks about her parents living a dried-up life in a lonely New England town. As she is thinking of the plain framed house they live in, the taxi pulls up to a magnificent townhouse, three stories,, with brass doorknobs. It is where she is expected.
She pays the fare, rings the bell and waits.
CHAPTER SIX
The door is opened by a very impressive butler. She enters an expensively decorated room and hears Ed Feeley's voice calling out to her, "Melanie, my dear. Come and meet my other guests."
There is a large table in the center of the room laden with punch bowl and glasses, silver, china, and all types of food. Mr. Feeley asks Melanie what she wants to drink. She motions to the bottles of champagne cooling in the ice buckets. He pours her a glass, and she drinks it quickly to quiet her nervousness. She wonders why she has been invited.
She looks about the room at the other guests. Every other person in the room is male-homosexual male that is. They are standing in little groups around the room. When Melanie is introduced they look up and smile in a friendly fashion but a reserved calm has overtaken the room.
She realizes that there are nine men in the room with her. Ah, the lucky number, Melanie thinks, re membering her dream, "but the wrong kind of men." She hears faint violin music and looks inquiringly at her host who says, "My dear, I think it's time for us to dance." They walk into the hall where a small velvet-lined elevator cage is waiting. He motions for her to get in and the lift goes up.
To the right of the lift on the next floor is a large room with a quartet playing piano and violins. Mr. Feeley takes Melanie in his arms and they dance. Melanie feels very dizzy from the champagne. Then she looks around at the other dancers and giggles. The other couples are all male!
Everything begins to seem very mixed up to Melanie. She tries to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the wall of mirrors lining the room. The other couples begin to laugh also. I'm quite a way from Bradford, Connecticut, she thinks to herself.
Mr. Feeley stops dancing and kisses Melanie softly on the lips. "Does mine host want to fuck?" she asks bluntly.
"If we could-if I could," he pleads.
"But what about your guests?"
"They'll enjoy themselves. Come with me!"
He leads her out of the ballroom and up a short flight of stairs to a massive door. Taking a huge key he unlocks it, and they enter into a huge bedroom with a circular bed covered in white lace. There are roses everywhere, the rug is white, and the drapes and chairs are covered with deep red velvet to match the flowers. The flowers' heady perfume lent to the ornate quality in the room.
Mr. Feeley opens a closet door and takes a beige silk robe which he gives to Melanie. "Put this on, please, dear," he says.
"What are we getting dressed for," she asks, a bit drunkenly. "I thought we were going to-"
He looks at her crossly. "Don't be a vulgar American girl," he says.
Shrugging, she changes, and he gets into a black velvet robe with a large collar and cuffs and tied at the waist. It gives him a royal appearance. Baroque music she cannot identify pipes into the room, and Mr. Feeley is very busy lighting candles placed everywhere in huge crystal holders. Turning off the electric light he looks at Melanie and says, "Come here, my dear," motioning to a small couch near the bed.
She walks toward him slowly feeling a cold chill come over her. Melanie is suddenly frightened, and she wants to run away.
Feeley senses her fear and reassures her: "Dear Melanie, don't be afraid. Nothing fearful will happen."
She gets the feeling that she is enclosed in a tomb since there are no windows visible in the room, and the air is stifling and heavy with the perfumed scent.
"I'm feeling dizzy," she says.
He leads her by the hand to the bed and puts his arms around her. "Dear sweet girl," he murmurs.
"But Mr. Feeley . .
"Edward, my dear," he corrects. "Call me Edward."
"Edward, why am I here? I thought ... from downstairs ... that you would prefer male company."
"I am not a homosexual," he says firmly. "You see, I don't function sexually with them but I prefer their company. They are elegant, cultured, intelligent, but I cannot perform the natural sex acts with them."
"But why? If you like them?"
"My mother ruined it for me. You see she was j so wonderful I couldn't hate her.
Melanie does not fully understand what Mr. Feeley is saying but she feels sympathy with him. He sounds genuinely broken up, and she knows only too well how it is to want something sexual and not be able to attain it. She is thinking of The Big O....
Melanie leans over and kisses Edward gently.
"Oh, no," he says, "not on the lips." He places her hand between the great folds of his robe. She feels his prick, small and fragile. Oh God, she thinks what am I going to do with this? And what for? What am I doing here? Dr. Hornblown will never approve. This won't get me The Big O.
But Edward has now found her naked breasts.
He kisses them both, one at a time, using his hands to caress them, manipulate them. He seems to adore them!
She had never run into this kind of man before. Tom would ignore her breasts entirely. Since Tom she has been so involved with pricks, she has not been patient enough to be adored.
Edward begins chanting to her in Latin, she does not understand the language but she feels the caress of his words. She is on the sacrificial bed, and he is the priest come to save her. She opens his robe to see that his prick has stiffened considerably. It is the most slender white prick she has ever seen. It even looks like him!
Melanie thinks this funny and begins to laugh". Edward stops kissing her. "What is it?" he asks.
"Oh-these robes," she teases. "It's so hard to get at each other."
"That's why I like them. I like to make it difficult. Two completely naked bodies are so dull."
She begins to disagree with him but he is reaching for her cunt with his long slender fingers.
"I've never been played like a harpsichord," she says. "A piano, a drum, but never a harpsichord." The slow movement seems fragile and gentle to her but she is filled with pity for him. Poor man, she thinks, split down the center. Just like me! she thinks. Like me!
"Would you ... , would you ... he is trying to ask for something.
She looks at him and knows he wants to be sucked. She must help him. She says, "Say suck, suck, suck Melanie. Suck daddy's prick."
He smiles gratefully and begins to plead.
She puts her mouth on his organ and begins to softly, skillfully suck it with her mouth, caressing it slowly with her tongue; her nose and chin touch the outer regions of his balls and thighs.
Edward is very slender, and, except for his male genitals, he looks like a thin girl. She stops after a moment to say, "Suck me, Edward. I'll suck you, but you have to suck me too."
" His eyes look up at her with beaded hope as he reverses his body's position. She sucks him, and his tongue duplicates her action. She gets the feeling that she is his reflection and he is hers.
Why, he's a slender young woman, and so am I. That's why he likes me, she thinks.
His tongue is bolder now, his prick getting stiffer and stiffer to match. Her cunt is being explored in all the dark crevices, and she feels an orgasm coming on. She begins to move toward his tongue, her muscles contracting. She hears him gasp and holds back a little, somewhat fearfully.
She bears down on him with her tongue. Then she begins coming, and her mouth becomes lazy.
"Don't stop," he implores. "Suck me! Please suck me!
But she cannot because her mouth is screeching her pleasure. Finally, she feels an emptiness in her cunt, and she is ready for a prick. She curses herself for being there. Now, when her cunt wants a big prick, she knows Edward will not be able to fuck her with his. She doesn't even want him to try.
What do I do now? she asks herself. She looks up at him and says "Edward, I need a big prick."
Smiling, he jumps off the bed. When he returns he has a large dildo which he has tied around his chest.
"Here my darling, for you. If you will suck me, I will make you happy. He places the dildo in her cunt, his mouth on her ass. He plunges deep, like a man possessed, riding, shouting with joy.
His tongue is darting into her ass; her mouth is on him. She begins to come again; she has never felt this way before. Gloria's tongue was too slim and not greedy enough.
Then it happens: she comes and comes and comes, shouting, grasping his cock with her teeth, he shouts with pain, but it is no use, he cannot climax. She lies back exhausted and sweaty.
"Oh, God, what am I going to do?" Edward moans.
She looks at him with kind eyes. "Don't worry. We'll find a way," she says tenderly. "Let's get up and join the party," she suggests, feeling refreshed.
Her head is now clearing. Edward starts to pro test but she whispers, "Maybe we can do something for you there?"
"What do you mean?" he asks.
She smiles at him slyly. "We'll see...."
They go down the lift to the main party after fixing their appearances. The butler does not even register a flicker of surprise at their return. There are a few men still there, kissing and fondling each other on the couch, and they pay no attention to their arrival.
Melanie motions to Edward to sit on a couch near the little terrace. Then she blows out the candles nearby and takes one thick red candle with her. They are now sitting in semi-darkness.
She puts her hand beneath his robe and her arms around his shoulders, placing his head on her breasts. "Just relax, Edward," she says kindly. "Just relax and look at our friends."
Edward sighs, his penis growing and growing. Melanie is swift and sure with her fingers. Then she asks him to lie across her lap and pierces his rectum with the large red candle. He groans and she pumps the candle in and out of his rectum as if it were a penis. The robe is following and stretching with the movement of her pumping hand. He turns to her and says she can have anything in the world if she will continue. Anything, but the one thing she wants, she thinks: The Big O....
He turns to her and puts his mouth on her cunt. She is still holding the candle in him. He takes it out and puts it in her. He can only fit half of it inside of his body, but Melanie is very moist, and the candle goes in more than two-thirds. He whirls it and twirls it, and since it is repeatedly touching the innermost regions of her body she begins to feel an orgasm rising. He takes the skirts of their robes and covers their bodies. The men on the couch are all naked now, attempting to make love to each other, and Melanie and Edward watch them. She had not known until she watched Gloria and Steve what a pleasure it is to watch people in the act of love.
She holds his cock, and it is throbbing. She is moaning with the waxed red candle in her. Soon he erupts, the white fountain of sperm, tarnishing the third of the candle that is still out of her. Her hands too are all sticky with his semen and so is his robe. But he is happy, so happy.
"Let's take a bath," she suggests to him. He motions to the butler who has appeared and whispers a few words. Then he looks at Melanie adoringly and says, "I was right, my little pumpkin. You do have a good heart. I knew you would be generous." It was the pain I could see in your eyes, in the mornings when you would come to my office. You were so gentle, so kind. I love you. Will you stay with me?"
She ruffles his hair gently and says nothing. Later she will tell him what Dr. Hornblown has said to her about the difference between love and passion.
"Please! Please!" he begs.
She smiles but the butler is motioning to him so she is saved an answer. They take the lift to the second floor where Edward has a huge bathroom, with a sunken tub. A bath has been prepared with perfumed oil for them. There is baroque music again. They both enter the bath.
They swim around luxuriously for a while. Then she feels his body close to her and wishes they had taken the dildo. Frustrated, she concentrates on getting refreshed, and after a few playful tugs from Edward, she begins to get out of the bath. He reaches behind her, and she feels a rubber playtoy with fingers on it in his hand. He manipulates her rectum with one hand and her cunt with the toy. Soon she is bubbling with orgasm and happily floating in perfumed splendor.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next morning when Melanie awakes in the large circular bed she is very hungry. "I feel like having a luxurious brunch somewhere," she says to Edward.
"Why?" We could have it right here and then we could...." he said slyly.
"Oh, no you don't, Melanie thinks. "No Edward, I want to go out."
He agrees and soon they are seated at the finest table at a Fifth Avenue hotel. They have chosen to sit inside because it is too crowded in the sidewalk cafe.
Edward orders champagne, and Melanie proceeds to get very, very drunk, flirting with Edward, affectionately being spooned her breakfast of eggs Benedict.
Afterwards, as they are drinking brandy and coffee, she hears a harsh noise behind her. She turns and looks into the eye of a furious man. It is her husband, Tom.
"Get up, you whore," he says. Dazed she tries to introduce Edward.
"I don't want to know your faggot friend, I want you to get out of here, now, with me," he warns. Melanie starts to rise, but Edward stops her.
"Melanie, shall I call the police?" he asks.
"No Edward, it's better if I leave with him. I will call you later." She bends over to kiss him affectionately, but Tom has already given her waist a pull. He drags her through the dining room and to the exit.
"Boy," he says, "I leave town for three days, and you get into trouble. What are you anyhow? Nuts?"
He drags her all the way to his apartment on 3rd Street. He has moved out of their spacious floorthrough apartment on 12th Street. She has never been to his new place. He is subletting it from some friends, and it has a grotesqueness about it. Nothing matches, for he has thrown his own personal possessions in with theirs so there is a confused look to the room.
He throws her down on the bed and says, "So it's faggots, now. You don't want to fuck any more, huh?"
She laughs bitterly. "When did you ever know how to fuck?" she asks.
He slaps her across the mouth. "We'll see about that! We'll see what happens when you see my big cock." He takes off the belt to his dungarees and puts it on a chair and undresses quickly. His penis is in full erection, all ruddy and red like his face, aflame with anger.
"This big cock has been very busy since you left, baby. It was you and not me all the time like I always knew. Only I had to go out and prove it." He points to his erected cock. "This big cock has been in and out of dozens of cunts, real cunts, cunts that crawl with desire-not like your cold hole." The phone rings and he snickers. "There's one right now."
He picks up the phone and smacking his lips says, "Hello. Hi, baby. How are you? Naw, I'm busy working right now, but maybe later. How's that nice big hole of yours? All flooded for me? Put your hand there and pretend it's mine. Close your eyes, come on. We'll prepare for when we get together."
As Tom talks he sits on the bed and undresses Melanie. She is lying there, completely passive, as she always is with him. She cannot understand why he continues to frighten her. She can't even call the police to protect her. It seems when he commands she cannot move.
"There, baby, how does it feel?" he is saying to the phone, his hand on Melanie's cunt, caressing it, rougher and rougher like he wants to pull it out of its place, so he can stamp it on the floor and beat it to a pulp, she thinks. She feels the coldness overcome her as always when Tom is near. She does not like his cruelty ... it reminds her too much of her nightmares.
"There, there, baby, pussy all wet with wanting me?" he says again to his phone friend. "Hmmmmmmmmmmm," his lips smack. "Suck, fuck, come, come baby."
Melanie is determined to get over her fear of her husband. Just think of him as any man, she says to herself. Just relax like Dr. Hornblown says and enjoy what's happening. Don't think of who he is and what we have been together. She relaxes and it begins to work. Her cunt is getting moist. She begins to think of the other girl on the phone, her twin-except Melanie has the real hand. Her cunt moistens more, till it is soaking with its own saliva.
"That's right, baby," Tom says to both of them. "Cock wants to fuck, cock wants to fuck, pussy, tongue and pussy, tongue. He takes Melanie's head and roughly puts it to his cock. She squeezes it only briefly with her lips, her cunt demanding it. She moves and places herself on his cock, moving in and out, soaring, riding a wild stallion. "Yes ... baby ... yes," he is saying to both of them. "Yes, fucking pussy, yes. Come baby, come baby!"
He puts the phone to Melanie's ear so she can hear the other woman's voice shrieking on the other side of the world. "Ahhhhhhhhhh," she moans.
Melanie feels her own orgasm coming. She sits upright and shouts into the air, straddling Tom, squeezing the enraged cock in her; she begins to scream, scream. Tom's body convulses, and he comes, shouting into the phone. She falls on him, exhausted, and hears him say, "See baby, we can do it over the phone too-that's how wonderful you are. Look, I'll see you tonight, and maybe I'll have a big surprise for you."
He slams down the phone and pushes Melanie aside. Picking up his belt from the table he winds it around his fist. "Where did you learn to fuck like that?" he demands, striking her on her buttocks with his belt. Melanie screams in anguish.
"Stop, stop, I thought that's what you wanted, a woman, didn't you?"
"Where did you learn those tricks?" he asks. "I didn't teach you them." He continues to fell her with blows. "What else do you know, huh?"
"Nothing! Please stop!"
"What else? Who have you been making it with? Little stupid whore."
"Stop! Stop!" she cries, her mouth dry with pain.
"What else?" be demands.
She tells him of Steve and Gloria. He snickers and puts the belt aside, then he mounts her and pushes his inflamed cock in her ass, crushing her with pain.
"Okay, baby, if that's what you want...." He picks up the phone as he is humping her and invites someone over. "I got a good ass for us," he says still piercing Melanie.
Melanie is trying to get up but cannot. Tom has her helplessly pinned under him and is humping her causing her excruciating pain. He does not bother to go easy in her rectum but tears into it until it is bleeding.
Melanie is crying, convulsing under him when she hears the door open. Tom stops for a minute, and Melanie looks up through her tears. In the doorway is six feet of woman, mysterious, voluptuous, and beautiful.
Before she knows what is-happening Tom has jumped off her and starts to undress the other woman. "This is Anne," he says, "St. Anne."
Melanie tries to rise from the bed but she is too weakened to move. She watches Tom strip the tall woman of her clothes.
She is startlingly beautiful: bold roman nose; breasts with huge nipples on them, each one large enough to compete with Melanie's whole bosom; slim waist; flowing hips; long legs; her cunt is covered with the same red hair that is shimmering down from her scalp. She is like a dream to Melanie, who has never seen anyone look this way before.
The woman approaches the bed and looks at Melanie with a critical eye. "She's just a baby!" she says to Tom.
He guffaws and says, "Yes, but she's my wife."
"Oh," Anne says, "that's different. We must initiate her into our way of living."
St. Anne sits next to Melanie and begins to caress her back, it is so relaxing and so reassuring after Tom's harsh treatment. Next she puts Melanie's head on her bosom, and Melanie feels that she is lying on a heavenly pillow made of the softest clouds imaginable. She begins to sigh and feels a tit being pushed into her mouth.
She sucks on it and expects milk to flow, it is so maternal. With her other hand, the arm not holding her, St. Anne begins to massage Melanie's buttocks and her cunt. It is moistening and is wetting the bed.
Tom watches with a leer on his face. "Want a drink, Anne?" he asks. She waves him away and begins to kiss Melanie on the forehead, caressing her hair. "My baby," she says. "My poor baby."
Melanie is in heavenly bliss when she feels her body being turned over and something is being rammed into her ass. She cannot see what it is but she feels the big tits on her buttocks. Then she realizes that she is being pierced in the rectum by St. Anne's huge nose.
It feels quite pleasant, and Melanie begins to enjoy her climb to orgasm when her husband lies beside her and puts his enraged cock into her cunt. Melanie is now being pierced in front by Tom's anger and from behind by St. Anne's nose. She begins to have an orgasm, and each time she sighs her husband slaps her out of it as if he does not wish her to enjoy herself. She tries to push him away but St. Anne has her hands pressed down firmly with her huge arms.
Then she feels her foot being pushed into St. Anne's cunt and hears the grunting noises of this mysterious woman.
Tom takes his cock from Melanie and jumps on top of the huge woman, so Melanie is now under two sets of bodies. Tom is humping St. Anne, straddling her, riding her high. He shouts with glee as he comes into her bountiful flesh.
St. Anne turns Melanie over and puts her lips on her cunt. Melanie is now torturously exhausted. She begins to feel faint and the woman notices.
"Get some smelling salts," she says. "We have many, many more hours to go!"
"Somebody to Love" tunes in on the radio and Melanie feels the room revolving around and around. She can no longer grasp what is happening to her. She feels like an elastic material, to be bent, to be softened, to envelope all of St. Anne and clothe her in the supreme glory of her orgasm.
Tom puts the smelling salts up to her nose. She draws back startled, and the room comes into focus again. She focuses her attention on Tom's cock which was larger than she had ever seen it, purple with rage, black with fury.
Turning she looks into the steel gray eyes of the red-haired giantess. She would be secure always with St. Anne around. She would protect her from her brutal husband.
"Let me bum her," he whispers to the giantess and she nodded her agreement.
Melanie began to scream in anticipation. She had seen Tom like this many times before, cruel, harsh, as if he took over another man's identity. After parties, he would deliberately pierce her body with all sorts of sticks and other instruments he could find to cause her pain. She could never understand this desire in him; it was partly the reason she had to escape him.
She looks quickly at St. Anne, her glance was appealing. Her eyes begin to tear as she pleads for the woman to protect her.
But she had underestimated her husband's friend. St. Anne smiles as Tom takes something that had been leaning against the fireplace. He turns the stove on and swirls something around in the fire several times; the hot sparks could be seen. He brings it over to the bed, and Melanie sees it is some sort of antique branding iron with a type of cross on its end. St. Anne guffaws, and she stands up and tares a sash from the drapes and begins binding Melanie's hands and feet.
" Melanie is squirming, trying to slide out of her jailer's knots, but to no avail. Soon she is tied to the bed with the dirty fringed curtain sash, legs apart, cunt exposed; St. Anne bends down slowly and licks it. Then she looks up approvingly, at Tom approaching the bed. "Ahhaaaa!" she exclaims when she sees what he is carrying.
Melanie's eyes are fastened on the iron he is holding, the red glow matches St. Anne's long red hair. The iron's end is in the form of a T, and Melanie screams as she sees the look of gaunt determination on Tom's face.
"I should have done this from the first," he says. He brings his arm down, and Melanie feels the searing flash of burning flesh; her head whirls, and the room suddenly blackened as Melanie feels as if her body were cut in two.
Tom laughed as he throws the poker down. "Ha, ha," he says "she has my brand on her now, something I could never do any other way. T for Tom!"
He reaches down and feels Melanie's cunt, "Nice moist cunt," he says and inserts his swollen member into her. Despite her lost consciousness she seems to move with his body's action.
Meanwhile St. Anne is kissing Melanie's lips, her tiny breasts, caressing her body as Tom drives into her cunt harsher and harsher. They work over the body until they both are covered with sweat.
Tom looks up at the large woman, and beggingly he approaches her but she is too busy with Melanie's body. So he puts his cock back into his wife's cunt and lets go screaming "Fuck! Fuck!" He releases his body's fluid into Melanie's pain-wracked body.
Then St. Anne gets on top of Melanie's poor harassed form. Using her proud nose she fucks Melanie's ass again, while Tom licks Anne's cunt. "That's a nice boy," she says, treating him coolly. She tears her teeth into Melanie's flesh leaving marks all over her formerly unmarked body. When she approaches the branded portion, she hesitates; she studies the seared flesh and then licks the tiny trickles of blood that were running out of the wound.
After coming one last time together, they lay back to join their victim in some rest.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Melanie opens her eyes and feels as if she is in a cavern in hell. She feels pain in her entire body, and in a flash the entire episode is recalled to her mind. She moves her hands toward her face and realizes that they are free; her two assailants had not paid attention to her bindings.
Quietly, she slides between the two sleeping bodies and off the bed. Then she grabs Tom's raincoat, slips into her shoes, gets her purse and is out the door as quietly as possible.
Once in the corridor, nausea overcomes her. She vomits for what seemed endless hours. She wipes herself off with her sleeve and makes her way to the entrance of the building.
As she walks down the street she is conscious of passersby's stares and she realizes she must look drunk or drugged. Walking downtown she passes a hotel and sees the name St. Anne's on the window. Stumbling as if hypnotized she walks into the place.
It is a large room with a long bar. A painting of a group of soldiers hangs over the top of the bar, Melanie, trying to walk as well as she could, reaches a bar stool and sits down. Then she orders a brandy thinking it would give her strength.
She smoothes back her hair looking into the mirror behind the bar. She was a mess all right! Her face looks like it had been rubbed in burnt ashes. She takes the drink the bearded bartender gives her, and drinks it all at once, and asks for another.
"Are you okay, baby?" he asks.
She nodded quickly and glances up at him, her eyes tearing. "Do you know ... St. Anne?" she asked stuttering.
He smiled and poured her another cognac. "Everyone knows St. Anne," he confirmed. "Got any bread?"
She reaches into her purse and puts a bill on the bar. When he sees it, the bartender relaxes and introduces himself. His name is Jack, he says. He is a painter, just working at the bar a few afternoons a week for money. Then he volunteers a clean cloth to wipe her ruined face.
She takes it and slowly passes it over her face. Her face hurts very much. She moves and the wound in her abdomen sends pain shooting through her, and she doubled over.
"Here, here!" Jack said coming out from behind the bar. "Sit down in a booth, it's not crowded." He signals a waitress that she was a friend of his, and sits her comfortably in a booth. As she sits down Tom's raincoat opens and Jack sees that she has no clothes on. Freaky, he thinks and puts his hand up her crotch. His hand feels her cunt still moist, and he murmurs in her ear that he will be off work in an hour.
Even in her exhausted state Melanie finds her cunt reacting to his hand's manipulation. Only every time she moves forward to meet his palm's thrust, her abdomen screams in pain.
"What's wrong?" Jack asks.
"Nothing. I just need some rest."
"Look, I'll get off early, and we'll go to my place," he says kindly.
She looks up into his face. Formerly she would have thought him a bum or a hippy, but as she looked at him closely the beard and the headband he was wearing disappeared, and she only saw his sweet lips and his kind eyes. She nodded and gulped down her other brandy.
In a few minutes, he returns, coated, and he helps her out of the booth. He kisses her gently, and instead of walking to the exit they walk toward the back of the restaurant. The kitchen was deserted at this time for the restaurant did not serve dinner and the hamburger trade didn't start till much later.
Jack picks Melanie up and places her on the massive kitchen table. He reaches down and unbuttons his dungarees to expose a large desirous cock. Without a word, he pushes his cock into her and Melanie screams, partly from desire and partly from pain. His body is touching her wound but the pleasure her cunt is giving her is too great for her to protest.
After he has expended some sexual energy on her in the kitchen of St. Anne's Jack kisses her and says, "Let's go home. That was a nice appetizer!" Melanie puts her arms about the man who comforted her. Everything is very blurry now, and she leans against his strong body. "Sweet thing," he said ruffling her hair, "let's go."
He guides her out of the kitchen to the rear exit. As they pass out the door she sees a sign reading St. Anne's: deliveries, and she thinks of the giantess. She had wanted to stay in her arms forever, and she had been betrayed. Then she thinks of her husband and what he had done and decides to kill him.
Half fainting, she follows Jack, the kind painter/bartender, just down the street to his loft. He carries her up the stairs, places her upon his low-slung bed, pours two cups of wine, lights some incense, takes out some pot and then goes to remove her coat. Then he sees the burning cross on her lower body. "My God!" he says amazed. "A holy cunt!"
Jack begins jumping up and down like a madman. "Ahaaaaa!" he shouts and twirls and swirls into a native dance of some kind. Melanie in her exhausted state looks up from Jack's bed to see him, removing his clothes, everything except his headband dancing majestically to some rhythm she could not hear.
After each completion of a quartet of steps, Jack returns to the bed, looks down at Melanie, and warms his hands in an appetizing manner.
-"Oh, I'm in for it now," Melanie thinks. "That's what I get for trusting strangers."
She attempts to get up from the bed but Jack quickly comes back to her and places her in her former horizontal position. Melanie awaits the assault. What would it be now? A spear? A tomahawk? Arrows? She was thinking of her husband.
Melanie closes her eyes. Then suddenly all was quiet. Melanie forces her ears to work but still nothing. Then she hears the sounds of Jack rummaging through a drawer.
She opens her left eye slightly and is amazed to see Jack standing before her, an easel at his side, placing brushes in the paint pots. She opens the other eye to confirm the sight before her.
"What are you doing?" she asks politely.
He turns to her and grins a fierce grin. "I'm going to paint you! You wonderful holy cunt!"
Relieved, Melanie lies back and rests. She had always wanted a portrait of herself. Surely this was a gift from heaven or wherever. Then she falls asleep.
After a while the pain in her flesh awakens her. When she first opens her eyes, she can't remember where she is. Then she gets up and looks around. Jack is lying naked beside her, watching her covetously. She smells the paint all around her. Wow! she thinks. He must use a lot of paint!"
Suddenly Jack's hand reaches out towards her body and begins smearing something on it. Hysterically she looks down and sees that Jack has painted her entire body, he has surrounded her damaged portion with hues of pink, purple, and blue. He is now smearing her chest with a sickly green, smearing her chest with a sickly green.
"Oh, baby, baby, baby!" he says, as he smeared and his huge cock made his enjoyment obvious.
"What a mess I am," Melanie says, and Jack frowns at her.
"Don't you know you are being honored? You are part of a living growing work of art! We are all part of it! That's what art is ... life!" He says all this ceremoniously and waits for her to absorb the complexities of it. He is very patient and does not continue to spread his sickly green paint for at least half a minute.
"What do you mean?" Melanie asks feeling absurd.
"My silly one, we are living in a plastic age; everything is fake; machines are driving men underground. This is my answer: LIVE! BREATHE! SHIT!
PISS! FUCK! PAINT! MAKE PAINT A LIVING THING! Can't you understand that?" he pleads.
Melanie thinks for a minute. She had always dreamed of becoming part of the world of the artist. She doesn't know the difference but she knows there is a difference between the men on the subway and this man beside her.
Then she remembers Dr. Hornblown. Would he be pleased? Where could she find a better candidate for The Big O than in the free world of creativity? Yes, she settles her mind, she will take a chance on Jack. She will go along with anything he wishes and hopes he will give her what she so desires.
"Yes, I do understand, darling!" she says and opens her arms to him, whereupon he takes a paint pot of a sunny yellow and spreads the color all over her right arm. After completing her other arm with a shade of orange he sits back and looks at her. He rises, hands her a glass of wine, and lights up a thin cigarette which he inhales in a way she has never seen.
Beating on his chest he takes the glass she is sipping away from her and looks piercingly into her eyes. "Are you ready?" he asked. "Are you ready to complete the work of art?"
She nods and Jack is upon her, his body smearing his paint, swirling the purple with blue, smearing the sickly green with the yellow. Finding her red hole carefully for he doesn't wish to hurt her wound, he pumps into her.
Melanie is very excited. The paint fumes are getting to her and she feels very dizzy. She opens her blue legs wide to welcome the hard cock of her creator, but she can't feel anything. She did not want to embarrass him by looking, so she ignores the fact and begins rubbing her painted cheek against Jack's, spreading the work of art onto him.
"No, no!" he beseeches, wiping the paint off his face. "Don't spoil it!" He pierces through the blue purple cunt again and again she does not feel anything. This time her curiosity gets the best of her and she looks down. She saw that Jack's cock was definitely limp.
"What's the matter?" she asks him wanting to help.
"It's too exciting!" he said getting up from the bed. "I'm going mad! I'm going to flip!" He turns to look at her. "My God, what a work of art! What a beauty!" Then he reaches out his arms to her and says, "Come, look."
Melanie follows him to the kitchen area where a huge mirror is nailed to the wall. She looks at her body with a start. My goodness, she really does look like a painting! But now that she does, what is she supposed to do about it? Besides, she doesn't trust that mad glint in Jack's eye; she doesn't understand it.
Charging up a new found strength, she looks at him and asks, "Do you have a shower? I must go."
"Go? A shower? You stupid child! You are to stay that way forever ... or until I have my show. I will use many other bodies. It will be fascinating ... the talk of the art world." Then he sits on a chair and begins doing vague drawings on a sketch pad.
Sighing Melanie looks at him and wonders what she has gotten herself into.
Jack the painter-bartender is tearing up sketch after sketch and Melanie has been napping. Once again a sharp pain in her abdomen wakes her and she looks down at her psychedelically painted body. She then realizes that her wound was all full of pus. "Call a doctor!" she said to Jack pointing to her festering middle.
He looks to where she is pointing and stares fascinated at the mixture of colors. Then he takes his paint and brushes and gets ready to paint again.
"No, no, no!" she says and gets up from the bed. She sits on his lap and gives him her best daddy's girl smile. "Jack, this is serious. Please call a doctor."
"You mean it, baby?" he asks suspiciously.
"Yes, yes! Can't you see? I'm in pain ... and the wound is getting worse."
"I'll call St. Vincent's," he agrees.
Having been told that an ambulance could mean a visit from the police also, Jack bundles Melanie up in a blanket and carries her down to the street, hails a cab, and they are off to St. Vincent's emergency room.
When they get there he carries her in and removes the blanket to show her wound. The doctors and nuns there stand around staring at the incredible sight.
"She's been hurt," he says and sits down.
"Get some antiseptic!" the doctor orders excitedly and begins wiping off Jack's work.
"No! No! You are ... ruining my work ... my work of art." While Jack was protesting in vain the doctor signaled a nurse and whispered in her ear. A few minutes later, two burly policemen appear to escort Jack to another part of the ward to ask him questions about this curious sight.
Melanie loses consciousness when the pain gets too great, and they take her to a clean white room. As soon as she wakes a nun comes to her with some broth. "You must get your strength again," the sister said.
Melanie sighs. Her body is covered with a hospital gown, and she discovers that her wound is covered with fresh bandages. "Am I all right?" she asks nervously.
The nurse says, "The doctor will be here soon."
A few minutes later an all-white trio enters the room: the intern who bandaged her, the head doctor, and a specialist who had heard the story of Melanie's emergency entrance. They greet her kindly and begin asking her personal questions. She has no difficulty answering them until they ask her how she got the wound. Melanie was stumped. What could she possibly say to that?
"It was a religious ceremony," she lies. Looking up at them she confesses that she had gotten involved with a religious group that required branding. "I don't know much about them, but I know St. Anne is their leader," she says. "I'm new in the city, and I don't know too many people."
All the doctors feel paternal as they look into Melanie's innocent face. Without the paint on her, Melanie looks like the average American girl. No longhair hippy was she, they can see that, so they believe her. But she would have to take a psychiatric test.
"Oh, my-I have my own psychiatrist," she says and gives them Dr. Arthur Hornblown's name and address. "Please tell him to come ... if he can," she says. Then Melanie lies back for a long nap which she needs badly.
She is disturbed several hours later by loud voices at the door of her room. Jack, the painter-bartender is there screaming that they had ruined his greatest creation.
"This culture is going to the dogs," he says, raising his fists at the nurses and doctors who hurried there. Down the hall he can also see the two cops he had managed to escape from. With one brief jump, he joins Melanie in bed and gets under the covers. "Don't tell them I'm here," he says.
The group runs into the room and looks around the room. The cops check the closets and the bathroom but no Jack. One of the nuns suspiciously looks under the bed while another checks the bureau drawers foolishly. Still no Jack.
Melanie sits there, her eyes half closed, her knees up; Jack is hiding under them. But the bad boy can't leave well enough alone. Greeted by Melanie's moist cunt, Jack can't resist the temptation to taste a little of the wonderful nectar. Melanie tries to keep a straight face, but Jack is really getting to her. His tongue is going deeper and deeper-and Melanie had never been a good actress.
"The poor girl needs her rest," everyone agrees, and they turn to leave. A second later and everything would have been all right, but unfortunately Melanie begins to come; Jack had hit her tolerance point and she can't help moaning. The doctor turns around and walks swiftly to the bed. As Melanie continues coming he feels her pulse and her head. "What is the matter, dear girl?" he asks over and over.
He looks at his colleague and asks, "Do you think she is having an hysterical fit? Or is it a nightmare? What do you think?"
His colleague, a young man of about thirty, who recognizes immediately that Melanie is coming shakes his head. "Let's give her a sedative," he says, secretly thinking he'll be around later for a little of the action. The only thing that puzzles him is how she is coming when both her hands were visible.
Ah, this is a remarkable girl, coming without manipulation, he thinks, unaware that Jack has his tongue in Melanie's most inner parts.
The nurse brings the needle and soon Melanie is off in an erotic dreamland.
A few hours later young Dr. Jim Watson is back in her room. Being a sensualist by nature he is very, interested in the phenomena that had occurred earlier.
He pulls the covers down to Melanie's waist. He taps her chest, feels her muscles, takes her pulse-nothing unusual. Then he pulls the covers down a little further and is astonished to find Jack there, tongue in cunt, sleeping; suddenly everything becomes clear to him.
He shakes Jack for at least ten minutes before he can awaken him. Then he says in the language he knows Jack will understand, "Look man, you better scram. The fuzz is looking for you."
CHAPTER NINE
Jack the painter-bartender acts instinctively. He jumps off the bed, and dashes out the door, down the corridor of the hospital to the exit. He has no idea where he is until he hits the street. Then he realizes he has left his beautiful work of art in the white building. Screaming, he races back but Dr. Watson has locked Melanie's door. He begins pounding and shouting and soon is being led away again, by two burley cops, to jail on a complicated charge.
Meanwhile Dr. Watson has taken Jack's position under Melanie's knees. Wow! this is nice, he thinks, as he sucks the beautiful cunt. Nuzzling, eating, munching, he enjoys himself for hours as Melanie sleeps, undisturbed.
Sated, he is just about to fall off to sleep himself when a key turns in the lock and there stands Dr. Arthur Hornblown, dressed in a cape too warm for the weather, pointing at the bed and saying to a dark-suited gentlemen next to him that Dr. Watson knew as the director of the hospital: "There! There's your AMA for you! I will press charges immediately!" He swoops to the bed, grabs Melanie up in his arms, puts his cape about her and, to the chagrin of all, carries her out of the room, out of the hospital, into a cab, and up to his lovely mansion's second floor salon.
When they arrive, his Chinese houseboy brews her very special tea, and Dr. Hornblown removes the complicated bandaging on her wound. Then, after cleaning the area around the wound, he goes into his bedroom to a huge chest, Oriental in design. Unlocking it with a combination of five keys, he opens the bronze doors to the velvet inside. There in the middle of all this luxury lay his most treasured possession: the blanket treated organically by Dr. Reique himself. He takes it out reverently.
Then he brings it into the salon where he binds it around Melanie's wound. Leaving a soft light on, he lies back on the couch so he could be there when she awakened. Taking up another of Dr. Reique's masterpieces, he reads his way into the night.
When Melanie wakes up the next morning the first thing she sees is the face of her beloved doctor. She smiles and sits up in bed. "Ah! Quiet now, Melanie," Dr. Hornblown says and rings for Chen Yu the Chinese houseboy. After ordering a nourishing breakfast for Melanie, Dr. Hornblown goes into his bedroom to prepare for his patients.
First, he takes a luxurious oil bath, oil from Persia brought back by a wealthy client. Then he mbs his prick, manipulates it for at least ten minutes with a rosebud preparation made for him by his chemist friend, Mr. Flooey. After an intense examination of his cock from every angle, using a magnifying mirror, Dr. Hornblown feels he is ready for work.
He puts on his Japanese robe and slippers, brushes back his thinning hair, smooths his young mustache and puts on the ring that Dr. Reique had willed to him. Kissing it, he leaves his bedroom and enters the salon where Melanie has just finished a large breakfast of fruit, tea and honey.
"How do you feel, my dear?" he asks ceremoniously.
Melanie jumps up from bed. As she does, Dr.
Reique's blanket falls to the floor. Dr. Hornblown gasps and stoops to pick it up immediately, brushing it off, kissing it and hugging it close to his heart.
"I feel wonderful!" Melanie says, and they both look at the wound in her body which is now healing rapidly. "What did you do, you marvelous man?" she asks with tears in her eyes.
"Nothing, dear. Just one of my many secrets," he answers. "Now! I must go to work! Melanie, you may rest here toddy. I don't think you should go out yet."
"Can I have a session?" she asks hopefully, remembering the pleasure she always feels after them.
"Perhaps, later-tonight. I am booked full today. Now there are many books to amuse yourself with. Here is a whole selection of our founder's works. Why don't you spend you time reading his doctrines?"
With those instructions, he returns to the bedroom, takes out his intricate set of keys, opens the treasure box, puts the blanket back into its sacred place, kissing it beforehand, shuts the bronze doors, locks the chest in the triplicate way it must be locked and climbs slowly down the back staircase to his office.
Seated, he picks up the little bell on the table to announce to his first patient that he was ready to see him.
CHAPTER TEN
His first patient today is Mr. Edward Feeley. Mr. Feeley who had heard, so many wonderful things about Dr. Hornblown from Melanie Adams, had called for an urgent appointment. He had agreed to the exorbitant price of one hundred dollars per session, Dr. Hornblown explained that Melanie was one of his charity patients; the poor girl needed him so he couldn't refuse her; the twenty-five-dollar fee was just a token payment.
Mr. Feeley walks into the room suspiciously. As he shuts the door behind him, as commanded by the good doctor, he smells the musky scent in the room coming from the garden. He likes the scent, he likes the room, and he likes Dr. Hornblown too.
"Now, please lay down on the couch and relax, Mr. Feeley-and remember that I am your friend, here to guide you, nothing will happen that you do not want."
Reassured, Mr. Feeley lies on the couch. It is hard but comfortable. Suddenly he feels very warm.
"You may remove your jacket, sir, to be more comfortable," the doctor adds. Mr. Feeley sat up and did so.
"And perhaps your shirt; those silk shirts are cumbersome, and you know we must work with your muscle tone."
Mr. Feeley does as he is bidden.
"Now relax and think about the most wonderful event that has happened to you. One ... two ... three!"
Mr. Feeley begins thinking of the other day with Melanie, and his cock begins to grow. The good doctor, always observant, becomes aware of this.
"Now, Mr. Feeley, you might like to undress further to your slacks perhaps ... it is such a warm day!"
Dr. Flomblown's voice has a hypnotic quality about it; Mr. Feeley does as he is told without questioning. He strips down to the silk tights made for him by the good sisters in a convent high in the mountains of India.
"Exquisite piece of work," the good doctor remarks, referring to his tights. "May I see the workmanship?"
Proudly Mr. Feeley hands over his brief tights, and the doctor looks at the intricate stitching of the sisters. "Remarkable!" he says and places the garment in a box near his chair which has been treated organically.
"Now Mr. Feeley, please lie down again and think of the thing you want most in the world. Do not verbalize it, I will know from your body and your muscles what it is!"
Mr. Feeley thinks about the fact that he had always wanted to be ... to be....
With a quick jump, Dr. Hornblown is on top of Mr. Feeley, sucking his cock, kneading the erection, caressing it, loving it. Mr. Feeley is in heaven, he screams and murmurs, kissing the top of Dr. Hornblown's balding head. They, play for many minutes, and then Dr. Hornblown sits up and asks, "Are you ready, Edward? Are you ready for what you really want?"
Mr. Feeley feels a shiver of fear pass through his body. If Melanie had not sworn to him that the doctor was always right ... he looks up at the kind face of Dr. Hornblown and shakes his head, gulping his fear down.
Dr. Hornblown gently turns his patient over. Then with one thrust he rams his huge cock into his rectum, and Mr. Feeley shouts with pain. But then the pain turns into pleasure.
"Relax, Edward ... Relax. No one will hurt you!"
Mr. Feeley's buttocks begin to relax. Oh such indescribable sweetness fills him. He has searched all his life for this moment ... this moment of revelation ... this moment of love ... this moment of truth. He was so lucky, so very, very luck....
Dr. Hornblown pushes further, inward, soon Mr. Feeley feels as though Dr. Hornblown will go right through him. He begins shrieking with joy, coming, coming, coming, and Dr. Hornblown comes too, as usual.
Time is getting short, the good doctor can see by his watch; only ten minutes to go, and he needs that for wrap up. He never lets patients leave without re assuring them, and old Mrs. Peebody is next, and she gets nervous if he isn't on time. He has to pay attention to her-she pays one hundred and fifty dollars an hour.
He slowly exits from Edward's tender ass and begins massaging him, talking to him gently, reassuring him. Soon Edward is back in the land of reality and Dr. Hornblown takes his place on the chair again. He tells Edward to dress while he speaks.
"You have no serious problem, Edward," he says kindly. "About a year of our therapy will cure you so you will be a happier person, and life will take on a new meaning for you."
Mr. Feeley shakes his head silently. Now fully dressed he writes out a check for the required amount and rises to go.
As he reaches the door he turns to the good doctor, his voice and his face are filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Dr. Hornblown ... thank you. I've ... I've always wanted to be ... queer." With tears choking him, he cannot speak any longer. Wiping them away from his eyes with his fists, he exits to the bathroom and cries for a time.
Dr. Hornblown sits there renewed. It is so good to be in the kind of work that helped human beings find themselves. He remembers his business career, before he found his true mission, and he shivers from the bad memories. I have been very lucky, he says to himself as he rings the bell for old Mrs. Peabody who likes to fingerfuck.
Melanie is sitting up in bed when she hears Ed Feeley's sobs. She leaves her room and finds the tiny staircase leading to the downstairs section of the house. She creeps down the stairs slowly, and without realizing it, she is in the outer chamber of Dr. Hornblown's study.
She is about to go back upstairs when she hears the basso voice of the good doctor saying, "Itsy-bitsy, Mrs. Peebody. A little at a time ... one mustn't expect miracles in six months."
She stands silently for a moment. Ah, she thinks, the wonderful doctor is curing someone else. What a rewarding life he has, curing people, making them happy.
She hugs herself and blesses the day she discovered her savior. Then she turns and starts up the stairs again but is stopped by the happy shrieks of a woman's voice.
"That's right, my dear. Just relax, relax," she hears Dr. Hornblown say. "Everything will be all right. Mother won't find out what we're doing. Daddy will ... but he'll be jealous, and I'll fight him. Yes, I will. Don't worry, I will protect you. Just give into the pleasure ... the pleasure of your body ... enjoy my hands."
At this point the woman begins shrieking wildly. Melanie thinks the woman might have an attack or something, so she sits on a step, ready to be of aid. Wasn't it wonderful, the way Dr. Hornblown could use his mind and his voice to relax people ... so they could fully use their muscles and their body for pleasure?
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Mrs. Peebody screams and Melanie jealously thinks perhaps she is having The Big O. Sighing to herself, she makes a note to ask how long the patient has been coming to therapy ... Probably longer than Melanie, and, therefore, further ahead in her treatment.
Murmurs are now coming from the room, and Dr. Hornblown's voice caresses, "Yes, you are ready, Mamie. You are ready. Don't be afraid. This is what we have been working for. This is the hour, the minute, the second of your life's changing!"
Melanie hears protests from the woman, but Dr. Hornblown keeps reassuring her. Then Melanie hears a thumping noise, like the couch was being moved. She hears cries of fear from the patient and harsh raspy breaths from the doctor.
What's he doing now? Melanie wonders. Perhaps he is massaging her back, or firming up her legs. Shrugging she goes to the library, to pick up Dr. Reique's book again which begins: "The world is not as it seems ... everything can and will be different." Sighing she concentrates on what the founder is saying.
Meanwhile, in his salon, the good doctor's huge organ has finally managed to enter Mrs. Peebody's cunt for the first time since her treatment. She has never allowed it before in her whole life, having produced four sons by come from her husband that was distant to say the least. She had turned her energies to business matters; being one of the wealthiest women in the country she owned much Park Avenue real estate.
As he enters her, Mrs. Peebody feels all her wealth crumbling. Piercing her harshly, for the good doctor believes that a shock to the system really works better than slow encounters, she feels the painful thrust of his cock and she screams.
Realizing her hysteria Dr. Hornblown stops his shock treatment and puts his gentle hands where his prick had been and manipulates Mrs. Peebody's cunt. Sighing, she relaxes, her old wobbly legs spreading apart, she sighs and comes and comes again. When it is over, she is happy and in tears.
Checking with his watch again, Dr. Hornblown realizes he has a consultation with two female students; part of his time is devoted to training them. He knew he would need extra energy for this portion of his day so he had invited them for lunch. They were about to be initiated into the art of doubles.
Gently, Helping old Mrs. Peebody with her things, he ushers her out the door. At the same exact moment, Mr. Feeley, who has been incapacitated for an hour, exits from the bathroom. The two patients look at each other shocked. Then they both begin to laugh.
"Concerning that stock I called you about this morning, when can we discuss it at length?" Mr. Feeley is Mrs. Peebody's stockbroker; he has handled her estate for many years.
I never thought he had sexual problems, the old lady is thinking as she smiles her best Park-Avenue matron smile at Mr. Feeley and invites him to her apartment around the comer for a morning cup of tea.
Ed Feeley is so very happy this morning. He wishes he could tell someone about his happiness. He accepts the invitation, mainly because he knows that Mrs. Peebody's youngest son, Byron, a beautiful boy of twenty-four would be there.
As the tea is poured Edward can see that Mrs. Peebody intends to dominate the conversation. Byron sits on a couch nearby, calmly reading a book of Poe's short stories.
"How long have you known Dr. Hornblown?" Mrs. P. asks as she pours.
"Today was my first visit."
"Oh ... is it anything serious? Sugar?"
"No, Mrs. Peebody. I have-if you'll pardon the expression-warts that have to be attended to. Lemon, please."
She hands him the cup of tea and pours one for her son.
"He's a remarkable man," she says as she creams her son's cup. "Byron, here's your tea, dear."
Byron gets up from the couch and walks over to his mother. As he does his hips move sensuously in his tight velvet trousers. Mr. Feeley could see the bulge of his cock too and his eyes concentrated on the movement.
"Thank you, mother," the dutiful son says and looks at his mother's guest quickly, inquisitively through his long black eyelashes. Then he resumes his position on the couch, balancing his teacup on one knee and his book on the other; the balance is rather precarious.
"He's studied in India, you know-and Tibet and all those faraway mysterious places. I do think he's a very spiritual man don't you, Edward?"
Mr. Feeley nods in silent agreement.
"And in these trying times of war and violence, one does need a bit of calmness in one's life ... a bit of the better things in life."
"I couldn't agree more," Mr. Feeley says fingering his cock under the table.
"You see, Byron, your generation has a great need for spiritual uplighting, as I told you before. Don't you agree, sir?" She turns her attention to her stockbroker.
He nods affirmatively.
"You have been born into wealth, you did not have to struggle for it. You do not remember the depression when people's souls were neglected be cause their bodies were too hungry. You will never have to struggle as we did. You have time to devote to spiritual pursuits. Right, Mr. Feeley?"
He nodded again.
Mrs. Peebody is on her second cup of tea when suddenly her old cunt begins to moisten. She begins to remember her session with her doctor. He is a wonderful man, such a wonderful man.
"I wish you could spend some time with Byron and tell him about our struggles, Edward. Of course, he won't believe me ... I'm only his mother. Can you spare the time?"
Mr. Feeley shook his head very affirmatively.
"Good. I've got to go to a luncheon for the Poor Boys of America-we're holding a banquet to raise funds for the poor children. I must dress ... I shall leave you two to your pleasure."
The old matron struggles out of her chair and disappears into the antiroom. They could hear a series of doors being shut, and then everything was quiet.
"Mother's room is quite far away," Byron says, getting up to put down his teacup. As he does, he sways his delicious buttocks before Mr. Feeley's open mouth. It has been a difficult morning for Edward Feeley, and he just cannot resist the sight of this handsome young man's ass. He pulls Byron's body closer to his mouth and gave his ass a little bite.
Byron turns and sit on the older man's lap. Mr. Feeley explores the velvet trousers and soon finds the lovely tender young cock he knew would be there.
"Oh, Mr. Feeley," Bryon coos putting his two soft lips right smack on Mr. Feeley's parched ones. Mr. Feeley mind kept hearing Dr. Hornblown's words: "Everything is possible ... relax and enjoy!"
He opens his mouth slightly and is introduced to the wonders of Byron's velvet tongue, matched only by the soft skin of his wonderful little prick. Yes, it's little. Mr. Feeley is happy to find that Byron is built very fragilely.
"My dear boy!" he says and begins undressing his young friend, first his tight little velvet trousers, then his silk shirt. Under the trousers he was wearing embroidered lace tights as delicate as Mr. Feeley's own.
Mr. Feeley is beside himself. He carries the young man over to the sofa and pats him on his stomach on top of Poe's masterpiece. Then Mr. Feeley takes out his prick and fucks the boy.
After a while Byron protested, "Let me suck, please, daddy?" he asks.
Mr. Feeley gives in to his request. Ah, such heavenly bliss, he is thinking. All these years I've missed the cream of life. His prick feels as if thousands of humming birds had lighted on it and were turning each other on, figuratively, by the close contact.
Suddenly, there is a sound at the door, and Byron's mother reappears.
"Dear, me," she says. "I can't find my glasses, and I can't see a thing without them. Has anyone seen them? They're very fragile silver spectacles."
But her reappearance doesn't stop her son's sucking of Mr. Feeley's cock, a fact that made Mr. Feeley uncomfortable, to understate his feeling.
She looks toward the direction of the couch, squints her eyes and asks, "What are you doing Mr. Feeley?"
Byron removed his mouth and says solemnly, "He's teaching me a new yoga position, mama ... to make me feel humble." With this he went back to his sucking.
"Oh, very, nice, Mr. Feeley ... very nice work.
You know about that other part of the estate you wanted to handle? I think we can do something about that ... since you've shown such a personal interest in our family. Well my goodness ... I'll just have to go without them." She turns and goes excitedly out of the room.
Her appearance has been too much for the older man and he wipes his forehead from the perspiration that has formed there. But his young admirer continues his actions until Mr. Feeley, unable to restrain himself, comes all over Byron's sweet sensitive face.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As the morning wore on, Melanie felt very restless. She was sure Dr. Reique was a brilliant man simply because she could not understand a thing he said in his books. After trying to puzzle out, "You must die in order to live," a confusing thought to her WASP mind, Melanie decided not to wait for her session with Dr. Hornblown; she could come back later.
But she had a problem: what to wear? Dr. Hornblown had taken her from Dr. Watson's slippery mouth in nothing but her bare skin. She looked around the room for an idea and shrugged her shoulders hopelessly.
"What is the matter, missy?" She turned, startled. It was Dr. Hornblown's houseboy, Chen Yu coming to do up the couch.
"I want to take a walk, Chen Yu, but, as you see, I have nothing to wear." Melanie was sitting on a chair, wrapped in the lovely embroidered spread from the couch.
"Let's see if I can help, missy," Chen Yu said and disappeared. He returned momentarily with several Chinese outfits.
"How delightful!" Melanie exclaimed. I wonder if they fit ... they look awfully tight.
"Pardon, missy. Please stand up so Chen Yu know the size." Chen Yu was motioning to her.
Melanie stood up as he requested.
"Please, missy. Please remove coverlet."
Melanie was a little taken aback by his request this time. Then she remembered the words of Dr. Hornblown: "Nudity is next to Godliness," and let the coverlet slip from her body.
"Ah, I think this fit missy," Chen Yu said and produced a long slinky dress with two slits up the sides to the thighs.
Melanie wondered where Chen Yu had gotten these dresses but shrugged away the thought. He obviously must have a wife.
"Let me help you into it, missy," the houseboy said.
Melanie agreed, but found it very difficult to get her legs into the narrow opening.
"Missy must twine legs around like this," Chen Yu said and tried to indicate how her thighs should go. She did not understand, so he dropped the dress for a moment, pardoned himself and put his small hands on her thighs. Molding them in the correct position, he said, "Missy keep legs like this until dress is up to hips."
Melanie did as she was told, and as Chen Yu had promised, the dress went up easily to her hips. She did not understand the engineering process that permitted this, but it did work.
"Now missy must exercise cunt and stomach, please." the boy said, and he placed his hand on her dark cunt, kneading it.
Melanie jumped back. She felt her cunt moisten and shook her head. No! No! No! Not the doctor's servant, she decided.
WASP mentality in check, Melanie began swirling the dress up above her waistline and soon her arms were through the sleeve openings, and she was buttoning up all the tiny intricate buttons that decorated the left side of the dress. Once on, the dress was quite pretty. She took a step slowly and the engineering masterpiece really did work; the slits were cut in such a way as to give the lower part of her body total freedom. She did not understand why it had been so tight getting on.
"There. Missy is pleased?" Chen Yu asked.
"Oh, very pleased, you darling," Melanie exclaimed as she bent over and kissed him. Before she knew it she was back on the couch and Chen Yu was eating her pussy. "Fucky Wucky?" he asked.
"No, no! No, we mustn't do that!"
He did not seem to understand her and was wacking away, mixing Chinese words with luscious smack sounds: "Sucky Ducky. Mucky Lucy"
Chagrined Melanie began to feel herself reacting to the wet lips of the Chinese houseboy. Oh dear, she thought here I go again. And go she did, for Chen Yu was very proficient in the art of sucking.
Suddenly he lifted his moistened head from her bottom and stood up. "Sorry, missy. Must prepare luncheon for guests," he said, and bowing from the waist he exited quickly.
Melanie was glad it had not gone any further. She could not imagine getting out of the dress to fuck and wondered how the girls on the sampans did it.
Completing the outfit with the Japanese sandals Dr. Hornblown had lent her to walk around the house in, she smoothed her hair and quietly left the house.
Since it was summertime in New York, she did not look unusual. The dress looked like a chic Oriental dress and the sandals were adequate, but as she walked down the street she noticed everyone was looking at her.
She turned to look at herself in the glass of a shop window. No ... nothing was torn. She could not understand why everyone turned to look at her.
Of course Melanie could not see that her new dress emphasized her rear in such a way that it looked extremely tender and inviting. As a matter-of-fact, she was about to learn something interesting about Chinese fashions.
"Uh huh!" she heard a deep voice say. She turned and saw the tallest man she's ever seen. He was black skinned, with electric hair and a soft sensuous mouth. Dressed in black he wore a coral necklace with some kind of pendant at the end. His outfit was completed with leather sandals, winding and binding his feet. His eyes caught Melanie's complete attention though. They were the softest sweetest eyes she had ever looked into. As he approached her she saw he was carrying a large black notebook with mau mau printed on it in white ink.
"Hello, I'm Tim Timberly." His voice was soft and caressing. "You look mighty nice in that outfit."
Melanie was surprised at the way he spoke. She had expected guttural grunts. He looked like a man from the jungle. "Oh, thank you," she said and turned back to look at Delicious 9's psychedelic clothing.
"They're funny, aren't they?" Mr. Timberly went on, pointing to a silver paper dress with cut outs." A woman's body is most beautiful clothed in soft robes that caress her, encouraging her body, not demanding from it another reality."
Melanie pondered this thought and decided she didn't have any idea what he meant. She turned to him and told him so.
"Well, now, take a look at what you have on. Your breasts are free to breathe in and out, your stomach has its own motion, your buttocks," at this word Melanie thought she was blushing "are a rhythm all their own, your legs are free; you don't have to walk around on stilted sticks and keep your flesh pressed to the bones the way they do." He pointed to two very mod girls who were walking up the street; one was wearing a black plastic jumpsuit with very little room to spare in the crotch, and the other wore a baby-doll dress cinched at the waist.
"Freedom! Freedom of movement is true sensuality," he said and took Melanie's arm.
She followed him as if in a trance. She was so lucky to be accidentally running into all these marvelously free people, she thought with a deep sigh.
Tom headed for the park. "We can walk a while and breathe," he said.
Melanie opened her lungs at once and filled them with New York's horribly humid August stench, but she coughed and defended her nostrils.
"Yes, I know it isn't Switzerland ... but then it's the best we have, isn't it?"
He led her to the grass where he spread cloth, embroidered with golden tassles for her to sit on; it had been mysteriously hidden in a bag he was carrying. Then he opened the Mau Mau book and began reading his poetry to her. Melanie lay back drinking in the sunshine, listening to every word; she felt like she really was out of the city somewhere as Tim Timberly's gruntal words took over her mind.
The grass began to scratch her fair skin and ants were crawling onto her legs. She swacked a couple of mosquitoes and thought about how nice it would be if her silken blanket would ward off all insects.
A butterfly winged by and she heard the rustling of squirrels, and chirps from the trees. The park sounds and feelings interrupted her concentration, but Tim Timberly's voice droned on and on. Nothing seemed to interrupt his reading.
Suddenly she felt a fleshy substance on her right thigh. She stiffened ... it felt like a snake ... it twirled around her calf and began moving up toward her crotch.
Melanie was afraid to move. What could it be? Was it dangerous? She tried to signal Tim several times but to no avail; he kept on reading oblivious to everything.
She lifted her head and tried to see what was happening, but her taut breasts were hiding her view of the lower part of her body. I wonder how St. Anne does it, she thought of the woman's huge breasts. She probably can't see three feet ahead of her.
The snake-like animal was creeping up under her dress, passed the slit on the side. Worried about her abdominal injury, she decided she must take action. She slowly began moving her body closer to Tim, but as she did she found to her surprise that the animal seemed to get longer and longer.
"Tim?" she stuttered. "Tim?"
He stopped for a moment, his eyes glazed and darkened from reading. "Yes, my princess?" he asked, his poetry book tightly held in his two huge hands.
"Tim ... something is ... something is crawling up my leg. It's a snake. Can you see it?"
He looked at her confused. Then blinking his eyes rapidly he said mysteriously, "Do not worry ... it is harmless."
Melanie felt cold all over. The worm-like animal was getting closer and closer to her treasured cunt. Would it bite her there. Would she be damaged? What did it want?
Then she felt its head spread her vagina's lips apart. She couldn't believe it ... the snake was going into her vagina! What should she do? It might crawl up-crawl up inside of her, and she might never be able to get it out!
She started to tremble, and Tim Timberly's voice droned on. Suddenly a very pleasurable sensation overcame her. The creature was rubbing inside her vaginal walls in a most exciting manner. She felt her legs go limp ... all resistance left her body, and she began to enjoy the prolonged movements of the animal.
Sssssssssssss, her cunt splashed its juice in every direction as the animal crawled inward, further inward, climbing, rubbing, squirming, until Melanie thought she was going to explode.
And explode she did, screaming to Tim's Mau Mau poetry. The poet did not even bat an eyelash; he kept on reading of the death and destruction of African whites in a sing-song voice, in time with the furry animal's rhythm.
Returning to consciousness Melanie sat up to see what had been going on beneath her dress. She traced its length and was surprised to find its origin in Tim Timberly's balls. It was his cock that had been crawl mg into her ... rubbing her ... screwing her. It was Tim Timberley's fucking cock!
She was looking at the thing between his legs, peering at him on her knees. She did not believe what she saw. The poet's prick was like a thick elasticized rubber tube! In its full length it stretched all the way down to his knees!
Brushing off the park from her Chinese dress hurriedly, Melanie said goodbye to the still reciting poet. This was too weird for her she decided, and she continued her jaunt into the deeper areas of the park.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Regarding the impotent man, the art of doubles is an invaluable theraputic technique," Dr. Arthur Hornblown lectured as he scooped up several tiny fish filets that Chen Yu had marinated overnight, then heated with his own indescribable sauce, and served piping hot.
The two young female students listened attentively to every word their instructor uttered. Between bites of the sumptuous fish, he continued: "You see the problem in male sexual impotence-or frigidity in the female as a matter-of-fact-is anger. Now-how can the patient be angry if there is not one, but two beautiful young ladies in his sexual range?" He picked his teeth delicately.
"Range, doctor? What does range mean?" Marlene Burnbottom asked.
"Aha! I will have to demonstrate that particular term after lunch ... but to go on ... naturally, he will not expect his impotence to be so miraculously cured, but when two therapists are working hand in hand, the patient will find himself forgetting his resistance, and his anger will be demolished. But ... this takes a very delicate technique ... and careful planning; everything must be planned down to the last detail." He stopped for a moment to drink from the large tumbler of wine before him. Then, taking his napkin, he patted his mouth before speaking again.
Meanwhile the other student spoke up. She was a rather shy girl even though she had undergone seven years of Reiquian therapy, she still stuttered as she spoke. Her name was Carol Bloggett. "Bbbbbuttt-I thought that s s s-sexuality was supposed to to be spon-spon-spontaneous," she blurted. Happy that she had managed to say everything, she wiped her forehead with her napkin. Then she gulped down her tumbler full of wine; it went to her head immediately and her eyes looked glazed.
"Yes ... yes, of course," Dr. Hornblown agreed. Chen Yu removed the luncheon plates and was serving the plump doctor the cheese tray. He sliced several types of cheese offered him and placed the little slivers on wheat crackers, from the health food store. "Munch, munch," was the only sound that could be heard. Impatiently, Marlene asked, "When can we demonstrate, doctor?"
After swallowing his last mouthful, Dr. Hornblown washed it down with another tumbler of wine. Then he looked at the two students who were staring at him apprehensively and said, "Right now, girls. Right now. Come-ahem-I didn't meant that literally."
The young students frowned at each other nervously. Slowly they followed the good doctor out of the dining room, down another flight of stairs to the room he called the solarium which had been built in the basement of the house. He took a key from his vest pocket and opened the red door. When they walked into the room, both girls gasped with pride. On each wall hung a mammoth picture of their leader and founder, Dr. Reique, at different events in his life. The first was when he first landed in this country, a shy young man; the second was after he had created quite a furor with his unique theories; the third was after he was jailed; the fourth was taken during the last year of his life.
Under each picture was a large box containing a lens. Using this mechanism, if one stood in front of it, one felt as though Dr. Reique was really there in person.
"Choose your preference," Dr. Hornblown said, and he watched as Marlene Bumbottom chose the last period of her founder's life and Carol, the first. This told the wise therapist a lot about his students.
"Concentrate now," he instructed; he himself sat in the lotus position in the center of the room. A raised canvas cloth covered the center of the room like an erotic tambourine placed Dr. Hornblown in the center of the room, and gave the illusion of his floating in space.
Suddenly he groaned in agony and lay himself flat on the surface of the canvas setting. "Help, I need help," he shouted, and Carol Bloggett came running out of her little enclosure where she had been studying their founder as a young man. She saw Dr. Hornblown as one also, and she went to sit by him wondering what to do. He shouted with pain again, and Marlene too strode out with a heavy walk. She had gained complete understanding of the founder's last years.
She stood precariously on the edge of the canvas, looking down at the good doctor and Carol.
Then he looked up and said, "Range, my dear, range."
Marlene looked down at her teacher. He had removed his ever-present robe, and his cock stood limp. This took a great deal of control and practice on his part, for he usually was in full ejection.
"Range?" Marlene questioned, and Dr. Hornblown grabbed Carol Bloggett, lifting her skirt he inserted his finger into her frightened cunt. She squealed and drew back.
"Range," the man said, and Marlene suddenly understood. He meant a shooting range. Posing herself on top of the doctor she opened her legs and inserted his limp cock into her furious cunt. She was furious all right-furious at the world who had killed their founder, furious that he had let himself be killed, furious with Carol Bloggett ... who was too stupid to understand, and furious with the doctor for not being fully erected!
"I can't," he said weakly, so Marlene became very energetic. She began pumping away, but the doctor disengaged himself and grabbed Carol. This infuriated Marlene who began competing for his still limp cock. It did not occur to her that there was nothing to compete for.
Carol Bloggett's cunt reacted much the same as her mouth did. Like her stuttering, her cunt also trembled with little trickles of doubt and hesitation, but the doctor roared and went into her, his penis getting bigger with each stutter of the cunt.
But Marlene did not like this and grabbed him by his buttocks, trying to pull him off her fellow student ... strong gal that she was, she succeeded, and soon she was pumping away on top of the doctor's cock, feeling it erect. Carol did not interfere, although she did lick the doctor's ears as they pumped away. Soon, the inevitable occurred, and Dr. Hornblown emptied his white fluid into Marlene's cunt.
As soon as this was completed he resumed his yoga position. The girls were beside themselves, and they sat back exhausted.
"Now you have just seen an example of displacement, an effective therapeutic technique; by getting you angry with each other, the anger that I feel for one woman is displaced, and I can come."
But Marlene was crying piteously. It would appear that she was the stronger girl emotionally, but Dr. Hornblown knew by her choice of box that she was looking for a father image. Carol just sat there fascinated, unable to utter a stuttering word.
"You see my dears, what we present to the world is not really true, now, is it?" the doctor said as he got up and put his robe on. Then he excused himself and left the room. Turning on a switch as he left the room he went back to his study. He would know everything that happened after he left for there was a motion picture camera focused on the girls.
Marlene, still furious at everything looked at Carol Bloggett. "You dummy," she said, bellowing into the smaller girl's tender ears. Then she grabbed the other girl and started sucking her cunt, she reached for her breasts and found none and cursed.
She sucked for an hour, Carol's cunt still quivering stuttering. Not a sound could be heard except the queasy sounds of a tongue caught in its own trap.
They had had lesson one in the art of doubles-confusing, but a beginning at least....
Dr. Hornblown joined them again, after his steam bath, daily rubdown by Chen Yu, and his tea. The two students had been overwhelmed by their assignment and were lying on the white canvas, exhausted.
He motioned to them to follow him to his study. He had already learned that Melanie had gone out of the house, a fact told him earlier by Chen Yu. "Missy was very restless. Could not read."
Dr. Hornblown had looked at Chen Yu rather intently as he spoke, but the Chinese face was a blank and did not show one trace of emotion. Well that's how the Chinese are, the good doctor thought, and wondered if anything had gone on between Melanie and Chen Yu. Knowing that Chen Yu' was a eunuch he guessed not; it was for that very permanent fact of life that Dr. Hornblown had chosen Chen Yu for the very delicate job he had.
"Now girls what have you learned from our demonstration downstairs?"
Carol Bloggett sat in her chair nervously picking at her nose, it was an infantile habit she knew, but she could not get rid of it.
Marlene, however, stood tall and looming in her kacki clothes. "Very interesting, doctor. You mean by making me angry your anger was eliminated."
"Not entirely ... you see, there is a victim in the art of doubles. In our case it was Carol ... but it could have been you!"
"I doubt it," Marlene smiled arrogantly.
"It is this arrogance that will stand in the way of your career, Marlene," Dr. Hornblown lectured, fingering his balls and realizing he only had ten minutes to wrap this session up. He had a busy afternoon ahead of him ... and then, too, he had to fit Melanie into his program. Sundays seemed to be the busiest days in the week here in New York. Everyone seemed to be most needy on their day of rest!
It was a theory of their founder that if the social conditions could be changed in the U.S.A., everyone would be concerned only about his or her orgasm. Just imagine if one did not have to report to work, freshly scrubbed and prompt, what could happen to the world. Why we would have a country screaming of fucking cocks and cunts! Dr. Hornblown relaxed in his chair. That was his dream: to have a society of fuckers. Well, someday....Meanwhile back to present-day problems.
Marlene was sifting before him, head high, cunt tightened, he was sure.
"Marlene, in order to help people you must join them; you cannot lecture them, judge them, stay apart from them. Carol will go further than you will, even with her deficiency ... as a matter-of-fact it is this deficiency which will make her patients love her; she will be one of them; something will be wrong with her and they will identify their weaknesses with her stutter. But you present a strong, silent, empty hulk.
How for instance, can a frightened wife identify with you if you give her nothing but this outer arrogance? How can she open up to you? How can she tell you her innermost secrets? How can she relax? How can her muscles energize? How can you give her her sexuality?
"Well...." Marlene answered hesitantly. "I think I would be better with men patients.
"Nonsense!" the good doctor said very loudly and checked his clock again; he had four minutes to go. "A man would not be turned on by this smooth armor you protect yourself with. I have a disciplinary action for you ... are you willing to accept it?"
Marlene pondered for a minute; she did not trust Dr. Hornblown, but she knew he was regarded as the best Reiquian therapist in the city. And after all she did love their leader, even if he was dead. She bit her lips. She had worked so hard to get to this point ... would she be willing....
"Okay, doc," she answered brusquely. "What is it?" Dr. Hornblown put on his huge -rimmed spectacles and peered at her. "I want you ... I want you to fuck every man you see! Butcher, messenger boy, salesman ... Everyone! Do you understand?" Marlene gasped. She had always reserved her sexual activities for people chosen with delicate care. Could she use her precious tender cunt for anyone?
-"I don't know whether I can, doctor."
"This is an ultimatum ... for two days, Marlene. Just two days ... or you will have to go back to preliminary training.
Marlene had spent five years in preliminary training, and she knew it was a fucking bore. "Okay, doc ... but how about girls?"
Dr. Hornblown had one minute to go.
"No girls, Marlene ... just men! Every prick you come across! and remember, I will know. You know I will. Humility, Marlene, Humility! That is your next lesson."
Marlene put her hat on and looked at the doctor for a second, almost in tears she said, "I'll try," and strolled out the door.
The doctor turned to his other trainee. "Now, Carol, I want you to help me with my next patient ... he suffers from penis abrervis!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Whistling as she walked across the park, Melanie felt happy. Surely she was on her way to complete her happiness soon. She knew that she would be having The Big O in the near future. She couldn't explain how she knew, but she guessed it was her feminine intuition.
She sat by a lake to think for a while. Why was The Big O so important to her? Was it important to every other girl as well? None of her friends ever talked to her about it at college, as a matter-of-fact, girls were very secretive about what happened on their dates.
Melanie sighed. Sometimes she wished she had been born a man. It was true that it was more exciting to be a girl, more fun, prettier clothes, and it was nice to be the receiver of male attention. But after all, men were really more honest about sex, weren't they? She wondered if all the tales men told were true or whether they were locker-room lies. She couldn't imagine a bunch of undressed girls exchanging stories of sexual prowess, but she knew that the boys in college did it. She knew this, but she also accepted the fact that she was never one of their topics of discussion. It was always Gloria Slowcome or girls like that Sally Handstone.
But everything had changed now, thank God for Dr. Hornblown. Now she was leading the kind of life she had always dreamed about where things happened to a person, exciting things.
Unbeknownst to Melanie she was being closely observed by two Boy Scouts who had been practicing tying the famous Boy Scout knots in the quiet of the park. As she lifted her leg in her enticing Chinese dress, one boy nudged the other, pointed at her, and they giggled.
"Who's there?" Melanie questioned, a little bit fearful. She had heard many tales of sexual misadventures in the park, and suddenly she realized she had walked further into the brush than she had wanted to.
Suddenly a bush was being cleared away and two boys about eleven stood before her. Melanie could see quite clearly from their scout pants which were very tight that they both had erections. Oh my Lord, she thought to herself and fidgeted at the sides of the Chinese dress. But she only succeeded in tearing the side seam a little, giving the young men a more enticing look at her thighs.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"We're practicing for our next scout meeting," one answered.
"Practicing what?" she asked clearly not wanting to use her imagination.
"Practicing the famous Boy Scout knots. You've heard of them?" the shorter boy asked.
"No. Let me see how they go," Melanie asked, hoping to keep their minds off their erections. She thought she could handle them; after all, they were only young boys.
"Well, this is how one goes. It's indestructible," one said and began to manipulate a thick coiled rope into a hangman's noose.
With one swift throw the rope went down around Melanie's tender legs and the noose was tightened.
"See you can't get out," he laughed.
"Of course I can," she said and tried to remove the rope from her legs without success.
The other boy watched as she tried to work the rope off and quickly swirled his rope around her arms, and tied her hands behind her back.
Melanie realized in less than a minute she was their prisoner. "What are you going to do now?" she asked trying to sound maternal.
"We're going to fuck you," one boy answered.
"Now, now children, you mustn't say things like that," she began counseling but both boys had opened the fly's of their pants and were jacking off their penises, which were quite large, she noted, surprised.
"Who first?" one said to the other, and they settled it among themselves. While they were doing so, Melanie felt her tired cunt moisten. Oh no, she thought. Eleven-year-old boys now!
The shorter boy won and with his hand on his penis, still jacking off, he approached Melanie, They pushed her down and he placed his body on top of hers, but the rope made it impossible for him to enter her, or to pull up her dress.
"God damn it!" the young Boy Scout shouted and tried to wack his jack in through the cloth.
"Wait a second," the other said and produced his Boy Scout knife, which was able to cut through anything. "Get off her a minute," he advised, and very slowly and carefully he cut a triangular hole in her Chinese dress where he thought her cunt would be. He was very accurate, and in a minute Melanie's moist cunt was exposed.
The first boy jumped on top of her and quickly came before even entering her. Then the other boy did the same. Melanie could feel their sperm running down her legs. Oh my God, she thought. I hope I don't get pregnant. She remembered the tales she had heard of at school about how sperm could travel even though it had not been inserted into the vagina. That'll really spoil my life, she said to herself. Knocked up by two eleven-year-old Boy Scouts! No one would believe it! And besides who could she sue; they were minors.
They laughed and poked each other in their young cocks, giggling and guffawing as Melanie tried to smile graciously. She asked them to remove the rope, and to her surprise they did so immediately and disappeared into the bushes.
Melanie stood up and brushed the grass from her dress. Then she tried to wipe off the Boy Scout sperm from her legs. She was full of it! Those young men were really equipped she thought. Then she realized that the triangular piece cut out of her dress made it literally impossible for her to go anywhere. Here she was again ... a refugee from society. How would she get home?
She heard some strains of Hari Krishna nearby and made her way carefully towards the sounds. Eventually she found herself among a group of hippies who were sitting around in a circle. A prophet-like man was sitting in the middle of their circle, bearded, and wearing Indian robes. All of the hippies wore strange costumes and lots of beads. Their eyes were glazed and Melanie was sure they were all on drugs.
"Man," one of the boys shouted "Man, that is a crazy dress!"
"Yeah man," the others agreed, and she could see the girls peering closely to see what the boys were so hopped up about.
The Hindu leader looked up at her. His hands had been raised in prayer, and as he brought them down one of his fists caught in Melanie's cunt opening and got stuck there. She could feel his old wrinkled fingers playing with her vagina's lips. She struggled to get away but only succeeded in tearing her dress further. The Hindu had had lots of practice with yoga, so his muscle control was superb, and she could not get his hand out of the hole.
The kids around the group began singing again and clapping their hands in rhythm. Then they rose and began dancing around Melanie.
The Hindu guru did not change his expression as he kept chanting with his head raised, his free hand waving in the air, his face still in the ecstasy of prayer, his other hand still playing with Melanie's cunt.
So this is what they mean by universal love, she fought and struggled again to get away. The concept was too terrifying for her.
A boy came up to her, dancing, around her. He began taking off his pants. He wore nothing underneath. Leaving on his Indian weskit, he began lifting up Melanie's dress from the rear. It was an extremely tight fit and hard to maneuver, but he managed to get some of it up far enough to be able to put his cock up Melanie's ass. She screamed with pain and jumped forward, tripping on the guru's extended foot, and she fell on him. He went down under her, his fingers still playing with her. The boy from behind kept on giving it to her up the ass, and soon Melanie was lost in the concept of universal love.
But soon universal love was interrupted by universal law. Melanie heard the sharp whistles of the police, and suddenly there was lots of confusion. The hippies, used to police brutality, all disappeared, but the tiny guru could not get Melanie off him.
Soon she was being pulled upright by a tall Irishman in a blue uniform. He looked at her costume and said, "Indecent exposure," clasped two handcuffs around her tiny wrist and led her off to a large wagon.
The Hindu was imitating an ostrich; he had buried his head in the dirt in a holy position. However, this did not deter the cops, and they carried him, upside down to the paddy wagon. Then with a clang the wagon drove off.
Now I'm in for it, Melanie thought, knowing her appearance was distraught and unkempt. How will they believe I'm a perfectly respectable working girl in this outfit? I should have never left Dr. Hornblown.
When they reached the station Melanie tried to cover the hole in her dress that showed her cunt, with her two handcuffed hands, but it was difficult for the policeman escorting her was too rough with her. So her appearance at the police sergeant's desk was sans cunt cover up.
The two men behind the desk looked startled; obviously they had never seen this kind of an outfit before. "It's a new cutout dress," Melanie bluffed, trying to smile shyly. But the cops wouldn't go for it and asked her for her name, address, etc.
"Are you married?" the desk sergeant asked, and Melanie remembered that she was, and it would probably go well for her since she was. She gave them Tom's number to call and soon after a series of phone calls, her husband picked her up paying the one-hundred-dollar bail required to get her out.
"You're really flipping, cunt," he said in the cab as he buttoned up the coat he had brought for her to wear.
She tried to smile sweetly at him and wondered how in the world she would get away from him and back to Dr. Hornblown's house.
Tom pulled her up the stairs to his apartment. Once inside he bolted the door, took his belt off and began to beat her. She was exhausted anyhow and fell to the ground quickly, pleading with him for mercy.
"Okay, are you going to talk? How did you learn all those tricks you showed St. Anne, and where did you get that dress?" Tom was always interested in other people's sexual adventures.
"Go ahead!" he demanded. "Talk!"
She pleaded with him for a minute to wash off some of the blood on her legs and arms. Tom grunted his consent and Melanie went into the bathroom. There was an old-fashioned pitcher on the window ledge. Melanie picked it up and cautiously reentered the room. Tom is busy sitting on the bed, fingering his cock, his back to her. She stole across the room and with all her strength, smashed the pitcher on his head. He fell over, bleeding from the wound on the side of his head.
Melanie quickly washed herself off, covered herself up with Tom's raincoat again, ran down the stairs, into a cab, and headed for Dr. Hornblown.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Meanwhile, Marlene Bumbottom is trying to get laid. She had picked a bar that the hip underground calls The Trick; everyone who goes in there, leaves with a chick or guy, whatever their desire may be. She is wearing her shortest skirt and is sitting in a corner barstool.
The bartender is keeping an eye on Marlene. He has never seen her before and when a stray chick comes into the bar in the middle of the afternoon and orders vodka martinis, he knows something is wrong.
When a man sits next to her, she leans over and asks him whether he wants to fuck. Astounded and surprised at her forwardness, he is suspicious. Of course he wants to fuck, but he cannot believe anyone could be so straightforward about it. He shakes his head nervously, gulps his bourbon and soda down, and runs out the door.
Marlene sighs and takes another gulp from her martini. This is a hard assignment, she thinks. She'd rather do her four years of college over; it would be easier than what the good doctor has asked her to accomplish.
Three truck men walk in, greeting the bartender, they peel off their cash with very dirty hands. Ahhh, now, Marlene thinks. Remember Dr. Reique's theory about primitive instinct outweighing the intellectual. Now we'll have some action.
She smiles quietly and orders another martini. One of the men signals the bartender to pay for her drink out of his cash, which is in a huge mountain on the bar. The bartender does as bidden, adjusts his glasses, and keeps watch over the suspicious situation.
One of the guys, a little man with two teeth missing comes over and offers Marlene his hand. "I'm Ernie," he says, and she answers him in Hebrew. He laughs and answers her back, and soon they are pounding each other on the back with ethnic jokes. Then Marlene asks him a question, and he draws back startled. He looks at her, answers her solemnly, and then rejoins his friends.
Marlene has asked him to fuck, and he has answered that a nice Jewish girl should not say things like that. Wearily she keeps an eye on the other two, hoping something will break.
Feeling a little smashed Marlene pulls her skirt up around her thighs and sits with her legs separated in an obvious suggestion. One of the other men walks over to her and comments that she has nice legs. She giggles provocatively and puts her hands on her spread knees, as if to give him a closer look inside. He stands there laughing at her, and asks the bartender to bring his drink over.
"Are you lonely?" he asks. His name is Roberto, and he is Puerto Rican and romantic looking.
"No," she says childishly. "I just want to fuck!"
"Aha!" he says. "How much?"
"Nothing, nothing," she answers. "I just want to fuck!"
He scratches his head, puzzled; he has her figured for a professional whore. He cannot imagine a girl saying a thing like that without being in the business. Something is fishy here. He moves away from her still shaking his head, quite puzzled.
The third member of this tired trio is a man called Jonas Crabass. Jonas is a man of about forty-five who has obviously had some academic experience; his language is far superior to his companions.
Marlene shakes her head. Perhaps our founder is wrong; both primitives types have not responded. Perhaps Mr. Crabass is the one. She gets up from her bar stool and walks by the trio, headed for the ladies' room. As she passes Mr. Crabass she whispers for him to follow her.
In the ladies' room she repairs her makeup. Sullenly she looks into the mirror and decides she looks fine. Leaving the john she finds Jonas Crabass waiting for her. She pulls his hand and leads him into a dark comer.
"Let's fuck," she says, and Mr. Crabass twirls his mustache.
"Sure sure. Let's have a drink first though, dear," he answers, humorously.
"No-I don't want a drink. I want to fuck!" Marlene is getting furious. This assignment is too difficult; she has been at it for several hours with no success.
"Come on, honey," he says. "First things first.
First a little drink; then a little pot; then a little fuck." j
"No, no! Why do you need help to fuck? It's the natural right for every human being-" she states frantically quoting their leader. But before she can finish, he raises his hands in disgust and walks back to his companions, gulps dpwn his shot, and signals the bartender for another one.
Suddenly the bar is very crowded; the cocktail hour has begun for the employed. Marlene orders another drink and this one absolutely paralyzes her. In what seems like one second later she is standing in the middle of the crowded bar, shouting at the top of her lungs: "I want to fuck! I want to fuck!"
The bartender who has watched her all afternoon gathers her things and escorts her out the door. Disgustedly she sits on the steps looking out into the street, passerby noticing her. "Damn," she says. "I've failed my assignment!"
Her co-worker, and competitior, Carol Bloggett is doing much better with the good doctor's guidance. His patient is a man named Raymond Lancelot. Mr. Lancelot suffers from a lifelong problem: short cock.
He is a beautifully built man and has had much success attracting women but once they are attracted, that's it. In bed he can do nothing to make them come! He is morally against oral love and using his fingers seems obscene to him.
Dr. Hornblown has explained Raymond Lancelot's problem to Carol. "You see, Carol, he wants the one thing he thinks he cannot have. Most men spent lots of their time fingerfucking and sucking, but Raymond wants to cock fuck. And his cock just won't grow! Now I have a theory....
"You see in life, what you want most never happens to you. So we must get Raymond to change his direction. We must teach him the pleasures of fingerfucking and sucking. And I know you are just the girl to do it.
With your helpless stuttering he will feel protective, and, like the Sir Lancelot he is, he will rise to the challenge. Let us see."
Raymond Lancelot is lying on the doctor's couch as Dr. Hornblown and Carol enter the room. He looks up and embarassingly covers his short cock when he sees Carol. The other proportions of his body are perfect; he is like Michangelo's David: muscular, firm, and beautiful.
"Now, Doctor Hornblown, you should have warned me," he protests, referring to Carol's presence.
"She is a co-therapist, Raymond," the doctor says solemnly. You should feel no embarrassment in her presence. Come now ... remove your hands."
Mr. Lancelot slowly moves his clenched fists from his short cock. Carol stutters a gasp; the perfect body is spoiled by a penis that is no more than a bottle stopper. Her heart goes out to the man, what a terrible thing to live with.
"Now, Raymond-we have a series of exercises we want to try with Carol's help. Would you sit up please?"
His patient obeys.
"Now clench one fist and leave the other hand free. Choose whichever fist you wish."
Raymond chooses the left fist which tells the good doctor he has a libido problem. If he had clenched the right fist it would have meant he had an authority problem.
"Now Carol, sit beside the patient and slowly unclench the fingers of his hands, when and if he wishes you to."
Carol tries to unpry the fingers but Raymond is clasping them too tightly; he is waving his free right hand in the air as if to balance himself.
"Now, Carol, begin talking to the patient, telling him about our theories and ideas of life."
Carol begins a recitation of the Reiquian philosophy of life which she had learned in her first year of study. She is stuttering at every word. Suddenly Raymond permits her to pry his thumb loose. As he does, his cock begins to grow.
Dr. Hornblown, sitting in his upright chair is warming his hands with glee and making notes furiously. This is the first case of penis abrevis he has had, and his theory is entirely original.
Soon after Carol has said several more sentences, Raymond permits her to unclench another finger, and the cock grows. Then another finger, then another....
Now there is only the last tiny pinky to unclench the last resistance-and Raymond's cock looks almost normal.
Carol stutters the last sentence and stops for a breath. With that Raymond sighs as if in an orgasm and lets her unclench his pinky, the last finger. Then he leans back and enjoys the sudden freedom of the hand; his cock is huge and ready.
Following the good doctor's gesture, Carol leans over and takes Raymond Lancelot's cock in her stuttering mouth. Her mouth has such tremulous movement that Raymond comes at once, but first he has reached for Carol's stuttering cunt with his left hand, the very hand he had clenched.
Dr. Hornblown is writing the last sentence to his case history. He has succeeded where no one else has made a dent, so he feels quite proud of himself. But again time is a problem.
"Now, Raymond, I want you to come back next week, but do this exercise every night for a week.
... Carol will be on call to help you, and then we can finalize treatment."
Mr. Lancelot rises, not quite sure what has happened, but he does know he feels better. As he is getting into his clothes Carol disappears to give the doctor a last private minute with his patient.
"You see, Raymond, I told you it would be easy." Raymond sighs, putting on his jacket takes out his checkbook to write a check in payment. He takes the pen in his left hand and scribbles a check. Dr. Hornblown stares at him, his eyes popping. How could it be?
"You are right-handed, aren't you, Raymond?" he asks breathlessly.
The patient shakes his head negatively, and Dr. Hornblown throws his notes into his wastepaper basket. Something went wrong-but what?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Chen Yu is away for his weekly Sunday night off, and Dr. Hornblown has just settled himself down to an armchair dinner of leftovers and wine, with a book by his beloved Dr. Reique, looking forward to a peaceful uneventful night. He has turned the telephone off; even therapists need time to relax. But before he can take a mouthful, he hears the doorbell ringing furiously, and he knows something is wrong.
Pepping through the peephole he sees Melanie in a state of hysteria. He softens, the girl is one of his favorite patients, and he really wants to help her. He can tell by her face that she is in trouble. He opens the door, and she falls into his arms.
Through her hysterical sobs he can hear only random words vase, head, husband. He helps her upstairs. Asking her to'Tie on the couch he proceeds to give her a muscular tranquilizer rub, it is better than any pill, and in less than twenty minutes Melanie is calm and can relate the horrible story of what has just happened.
"Well, I see you are disobeying me too often," her doctor says angrily. "You are using all your hard-earned sexual energy in all the wrong places: the park, Boy Scouts, snakes. Indeed!"
"What are we going to do?" Melanie pleads. "Well, the first thing we must do is call the police quickly, just in case he is hurt badly. I will call, but I won't identify myself." He picks up the phone and does just that. When he is finished with the call he hangs up the phone and says to Melanie, "I hope he is seriously hurt, the bastard. Now, Melanie, I must plan some drastic therapeutic action in your case. I suggest we plan a whole weekend session. We will leave Friday morning and return Sunday night You will be a changed girl, my dear, I promise you. I only do this in very special cases."
Melanie is feeling grand. She is so happy to be a favorite of her doctor.
"Can you take a day off from the office?" he asks. "Well, you know Mr. Feeley is my boss and , . she hesitates to continue.
"Fine, fine," he agrees. "Now do you feel well enough to go home?"
Melanie nods her head slowly; she is not looking forward to seeing Gloria Slowcome and Steve Reardone, but the doctor obviously wants to be alone. He probably has a date, she thinks jealously.
Seeing her out to a cab, he kisses her fondly on the forehead and advises: "Don't get into too much trouble this week, Melanie, save it for Friday." With that he turns abruptly and goes into his mansion, slamming the door behind him.
Melanie gives the cab driver Gloria's address and settles back to relax. She only hopes she still has a home there.
Her anxieties were well founded, for when she turns her key in Gloria Slowcome's lock it does not turn. Gloria has had the lock changed!
Bitch! Melanie thinks and rings the doorbell, but no one answers. She is homeless and wonders what she should do now. Then she remembers Jack, the painter-bartender at St. Anne's and hails a cab to take her down there.
As she enters the bar she sees that Jack is not behind the very crowded bar. In the center of the room, surrounded by many men, men with mustaches, bearded men, beardless men, and bald men, is the tall wonderful St. Anne. She spots Melanie and beckons her over. She is like a queen surrounded by her court. Melanie sits on the chair St. Anne has motioned her to and quietly listens to what the powerful woman is saying.
"We must all go back to tribal living. We can defend ourselves from attack better in bunches. We can have variance of sexual excitement, and law and order will be established once more."
As each one of these points are made the surrounding group grunts their words of agreement. Melanie cannot understand what St. Anne is talking about, so she just sits quietly.
"Take this child," St. Anne points to Melanie who is suddenly getting very nervous. "If we had a tribal community, she could be introduced into its laws, its sexual practices, its other enjoyments, and she would not have to be roaming around this evil city alone."
The men all look at Melanie approvingly, St. Anne leans over and helps her rise from her chair. Then she begins to move Melanie, in a circular motion, to each of the men surrounding her. Melanie cannot stop the action, and soon she is whirling dizzily from one man's arms to another and another and another. They are whispering to her how wonderful she is, how desirable, how delicious. Melanie closes her eyes and thinks of her dream. She cannot believe it! It is coming true!
Suddenly firm hands clasp her and she knows they are St. Anne's. Helpless her body sags against the giantess, and she is again protected by the woman's huge breast buttresses.
"There, my child. Don't you feel loved, really loved ... more than you ever have before?" St. Anne asks.
Melanie is too dazed to answer. She is wrestling with her stomach which is close to vomiting. She has always gotten sick with any circular motion, in cars, games, dances.
"There," St. Anne says. "The child is in such a state of ecstasy that she cannot speak."
At this point Melanie cannot stop her mouth from opening, and she upchucks on on St. Anne's voluptuous breasts. She suddenly realizes she has had nothing to eat since breakfast.
"I need some food," she says weakly as St. Anne's court attempts to clean up their figurehead.
Jack the painter-bartender walks in with another girl. Seeing Melanie he shouts, "Ah, my masterpiece!" scoops her up, and carries her out the door of the bar, leaving St. Anne and her entourage furious.
Melanie is too weak to protest as Jack and his girlfriend carry her up the stairs to his loft. She remembers the first time she climbed those stairs. Press ing her abdomen she realizes she has not had a pain since Dr. Hornblown's treatment. "Dr. Reique is wonderful," she says and Jack asks her what she is talking about.
As they enter the loft Melanie sees that Jack had been serious about his 'last words to her. Around the room, in all tones of colors, are six beautiful girls, they are chained to the wall. Beside each one of them is a dish with food in it. Melanie looks at the food quickly for she is starving and sees that it is some kind of cereal.
"You see I am getting ready for my show," Jack says gleefully. "I already have a gallery lined up for the faU."
"The fall?" Melanie stutters. "But when?"
"The end of September!"
"And you're going to keep them here until then?" She cannot believe the artist's madness.
"Of course! Of course! They're all honored!"
The girls look up at Melanie and solemnly nod their heads. They are all girls who came to New York City wanting to be painters and who could not make it. The next best thing was to be a painting, was it not?
Melanie looks at the girl who has accompanied Jack. She looks like Sally Handstone from college and Melanie immediately hates her.
"Melanie, do you remember me?" the girl asks.
And Melanie realizes it is Sally Handstone from college. Then she remembers the stories about Sally really joining the dregs of society, and that she had taken LSD and become a hippy.
"Sally, what are you doing here?" Melanie asks shocked and wonders why Jack the painter-bar tender has not painted her old college roommate.
"I'm helping Jack with his show ... I'm his coordinator."
"What does that mean?" Melanie asks, feeling stupid.
"Oh, I'm coordinating the overall picture, the idea is to have a live-girl painting for each one of the Papal Guards at St. Anne's!"
"But-but there are fifteen guards at St. Anne's Melanie says, looking around the room and wondering where all the work will fit.
"Well, we have room in the loft upstairs for some more paintings," Sally says.
Suddenly they hear scuffling sounds at the door. The door burst open and St. Anne and her retinue charge in. "Rescue her! Rescue her!" St. Anne is shouting, banner in hand. The banner is a poster for peace.
Her entourage swarms in, and Melanie is completely surrounded by her tribe. Jack the painter/bartender knows when he is defeated and makes no attempt to fight for his original painting.
"Now march out slowly," St. Anne commands, but Melanie hesitates.
"What's the matter, my child?" the giantess questions.
"What about the others?"
"What others?"
"The other paintings. You're not just going to leave them here?"
"Why not?"
"But it's inhumane leaving them chained up that way and with that awful food!"
"But they are not of our tribe."
"What has that got to do with it?"
"Everything!"
St. Anne takes Melanie's arms and begins to lead her from the loft.
"No! I won't go! I won't leave these poor girls here. We must rescue them!"
"Fuck it, baby. I'm no Robin Hood. I'm St. Anne, remember?"
"Please." Melanie pleads.
Melanie's girlish charm has earned her a soft spot in St. Anne's heart, and against her better judgment the tall woman orders her men to unlock the chains on the live paintings.
Once freed Melanie runs around to all of them helping them to their feet while Jack the painter/bartender and Sally Handstone curse her from their captured corner. But once the girls are on their feet they are not moving.
"Well-come on! You're free!" Melanie announces and begins pushing them towards the door.
But they shake their heads and do not move.
"Well! What's the matter?" Melanie asks impatiently. "Speak up!"
The painting nearest her says in a low voice, "But it's our only chance to be famous. Think of it ... part of a show! I could never get into a gallery all by myself," she says with tears in her eyes.
"Well, what's so hot about a gallery?" Melanie asks.
"But, that's-that's everything!" the girl answers and slumps back into her position, folding her pale beige arm with her soft yellow one. She is a pale painting, a study in impressions.
St. Anne tugs at Melanie to follow.
"But I don't understand," Melanie protests and follows the tall wise woman out the door. "There must be something about human psychology I just don't understand."
And there was, for after she left Jack rewarded his paintings with a hard fuck for each one of them, aided by his coordinator, Sally Handstone, and they all came like mad.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Wearily, feeling as if she understood nothing at all, Melanie followed St. Anne. They walked for what seemed like an endless journey to Melanie. Finally, the tribe halted, and St. Anne said, "This will be your home now, my child."
Melanie looked up at a respectable-looking brownstone. There were geranium flower pots at every window, Irish lace curtains framing them. She would never suspect this house was a primitive tribal homestead.
As they walked into the foyer Melanie saw that all the brass was polished and the mailboxes all marked Anne, all nine of them. Therefore, she surmised that St. Anne owned or rented the whole house.
St. Anne ushered her into a warm room, and Melanie realized that the fireplace was operating in the middle of August. When she looked at her benefactress in a questioning manner the tall woman said, "I'm always cold."
"Now, Melanie, we will initiate you into the rites of the St. Anne Clan. It will not be painful ... as a matter-of-fact I think it will be most pleasurable. Is there anything you would like before the ceremony?"
"Food," Melanie said wearily. She was as hungry as a rabbit.
St. Anne rang a small bell and a beautiful French maid walked in with a tray carrying a decanter of sherry and biscuits. Melanie attacked the food with unrestrained hunger, forgetting her table manners.
Biscuits depleted and sherry half gone Melanie felt very woozy. "How will I make it to work tomorrow?" she wondered to herself. "I must get a good night's rest."
She looked at her red-haired hostess. While she had been eating St. Anne had spent her time plaiting her long red tresses into two enormous braids which she was now pinning around her head like a crown. Startled by this new appearance Melanie realized St. Anne really did look like those Wagnerian opera singers she had seen at the Met. They had always frightened her, and she had wondered how men could possibly make love to them. Told by her music teacher that most of them were lesbians she had not thought about it again till now.
She wondered whether St. Anne was a lesbian. After all, she had shown a certain amount of interest in Melanie. But there seemed to be an awful lot of men around her all of the time; even now she could hear the St. Anne tribe rolicking on the upper floor. The sounds were clearly heard for the house was not soundproof. Well ... could St. Anne be a lesbian and still like men she wondered?
"Come now, my dear!" St. Anne urged and Melanie felt a shiver of fear embrace her body. Should she trust this handsome woman ... and what would Dr. Hornblown say? Would she be thwarting her search for The Big O again?
She put her small shivering hand in the giantess's large one and followed her up the stairs. On the second level the house was divided into three rooms, Indian blankets and tepees were seen everywhere contrasting with the lace curtains.
Melanie looked around the room. There were nine men seated in a circle. She began feeling the excitement of accomplishment. This was her fantasy, her dream! Perhaps accidentally she had come upon a way to accomplish The Big O without the good doctor. And when she told him, wouldn't he be surprised?
"Now, Melanie, we will initiate you into the rites of our tribe, the St. Anne Tribe. You must understand what an honor this is ... you are the first female to enter! So far I have found no other worthy of this honor."
Melanie felt tears form in her eyes. How good people were to her? She was so fortunate ... everyone was so kind, and they were all looking out for her good ... she must have been born under a lucky star....
The men rose and surrounded her. They stripped her of the tattered remains of Chen Yu's Chinese dress. She thought of him fondly, how kind he was too. She tried to blink back her tears knowing they made her look unattractive.
Then a bearded chap went down on her and Melanie felt embarrassed. It was true she had watched other people perform sexual acts, but she had never willingly done it herself. After all Tom and St. Anne had more or less forced her into submission. She felt herself blushing, but her cunt was not embarrassed ... it started to moisten almost the very moment the man's tongue touched it ... only his beard was giving her a case of the hives....
Then a beardless man stuck his cock in her mouth. She felt gagged, but tried to relax. She remembered Dr. Hornblown's instructions relax and enjoy it ... and soon she was munching on the huge cock. Suddenly she felt herself pierced from behind, and the tongue of the beard and the cock of her unknown assailant met in the middle of her being. Then both her ears were being filled with cock, then her feet, and last but not least, her armpits. She felt like a puppet with cocks in place of strings. She began to enjoy it and felt the rise of her orgasm ... only she was so nervous that every time it rose it subsided before being released.
"Come, come, come," she heard St. Anne's command and wanted-to obey but couldn't ... she was too busy with all the cocks. She couldn't imagine what would happen next.
But they obeyed their tribal leader, and a second later Melanie was covered with white sperm, in her ears, hands, cunt, ass, mouth, feet. She was covered with white ... and then the cocks disappeared.
She rolled over and sat up wearily, trying to wipe from her eyes the sperm which had dripped from her ears. She felt dirty and clammy. This wasn't what she wanted! She'd never get The Big O this way! Maybe her dream was wrong ... maybe nine wasn't the lucky number ... she certainly did not feel comfortable ... and she felt used ... like a machine ... not like a , person.
"I'm sorry, St. Anne, but I cannot join your tribe," she said when she could get all the sperm out of her mouth. "You're too rough for me."
The giantess looked angry. She commanded someone to help wipe off the sperm from Melanie's face so she could see and talk more clearly.
"Why? Melanie, why? We need you. Look how we love you and protect you. You'll be one of us ... for life!"
"Thank you, St. Anne," Melanie said trying to be as sweet as she could, "but the only thing I don't want is protection. I want experience, experience, and more experience!"
"Well-I can promise you experience."
"Sorry, ma'am," Melanie answered carefully, "but the tribal idea doesn't work too well with me. I guess I'm a loner."
Melanie got up and started to put her tattered Chinese dress on. St. Anne stopped her, clapped her fingers, and the French maid reappeared with clean clothes for her. Gratefully, she got into them. "You understand, don't you?" she asked hopefully. She was playing on the woman's motherly instinct; she hoped she would not force her to join.
It worked! St. Anne sat back in her chair wearily. "Of course, my dear, but it is a terrible disappointment. I had so counted on you. The moment I saw that cross above your cunt I wanted you to be here, with, me ... but of course I can't force you."
"Listen, St. Anne, Sally Handstone or Gloria Slowcome would make better tribal wives. I'll give you their names and addresses. I'm sure they'll do," Melanie said tightly and scribbled the two girls' pertinent information nervously on a piece of paper. Then she gave it to the tall woman. Kissing her fondly on the forehead, she made her way downstairs. After she left the house she realized that none of the men had said a word. Perhaps that was what was wrong, she thought to herself ... they all seemed so vacuous ... so under St. Anne's spell. Well, I've fluffed another place to sleep tonight. What should I do now?
She looked around the dirty hot city and wanted to be home in Bradford, Connecticut again. She wanted to wake up to sweet Matilda's hot blueberry muffins, and her aunt's dry toast and tea. She wanted the sounds of the country to be with her again; they enlivened her, they made her feel comfortable. Here, all she heard were the noises of the city's heartbeat. How could anyone possible be healthy with all this soot and foul air?
She looked up at the street sign and realized she was not far from her employer's home. Would he, she wondered, give her a bed, without demanding sexual activity in payment? She had had sex ... all the way down the line. Despairing she felt she would never have The Big O-it was just a dream, just a fantasy. She would be like every other girl: uncompleted, nervous, contemptuous. Perhaps if she left the country she would be happy. She found herself in front of Ed Feeley's house, and she rang the brass bell. She remembered arriving here only a few days before. How much had happened to her. She was now an experienced woman ... jaded ... discouraged....
When the butler saw who was at the door he greeted her warmly. His master was not at home, but he was sure she could use the guest bedroom.
Swearing the butler to secrecy, saying that she wished to surprise his master, Melanie followed him to the guest bedroom where she wearily locked the door, turned on the very excellent and expensive air conditioner, undressed and covered herself with blankets.
Yes ... she needed time off from her search ... time off from sex ... She fell asleep immediately.
The red-haired Indians were all tormenting her with tomahawks and arrows. There was not a part of her that they left neglected. She was a bloody mass of tissue, and then they all came on her. And the blood was mingled with the sperm to make a Jack the painter-bartender painting.
Melanie woke up with a start, trembling, afraid. She unlocked the door and ran upstairs to the master bedroom. Switching on the light she sighed thankfully when she saw Ed Feeley resting there. She climbed in beside him and snuggled up to her fond employer, and in his sleep he put an arm around her. At last she felt, safe comfortable, warm and secure.
But then she felt a movement in the bed that did not come from her or Edward. She peered over Edward Feeley's slim white unclothed body and stared into the face of lovely Byron Peebody, who was licking his lips with his tongue and winking at her in his adorable way.
She giggled. Well I must have the Midas touch, she thought, and leaned over to lick his lips with him.
Mr. Feeley did not stir, and soon Melanie and Byron were enjoying all the comforts of conjugal bliss. And Melanie realized, for the first time in her life, what it was to fuck a beautiful young man. Somehow in her pursuit for The Big O she had missed the pleasures of purely aesthetic beauty.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Melanie awoke very early and slipped out of bed. She did not want her employer to know she had enjoyed-the "fruit" of his efforts; it might cause complications.
Leaving the house quietly she stopped for breakfast at a coffee shop and then realized she had nothing to do for several hours. It was only seven a.m. Impulsively she decided to get to the office early, there was lots of work there to keep her busy, and it would impress Mr. Feeley.
The subway was not crowded but she felt the same anxieties about the men in the car even though there were only half a dozen riders. At each stop there were fewer--Melanie watched their leave-taking out of the corner of her eye. Two left, then there were four; one left, then there were three ... then two ... then only one.
Melanie was so lost in her thoughts about the sizes of their pricks that she did not realize she had ridden to the end of the line and was at the Brooklyn Navy Yard where the trains sat in the terminal for about twenty minutes before beginning their trek back to Manhattan.
The Prick at the end of the car came closer and closer. Melanie just sat there, numb, her legs beginning to separate. There was something about a subway that made her feel helpless, out of control. She did not even look up at The Prick's face for it was not important. Soon The Prick stood there before her, huge, potent, and ready.
It forced her to lie back and with a groan entered her through her cotton panties. It pierced right through them to fill her moistened cunt. There was no room for her cunt even to take a breath without The Prick. It forced itself upon Melanie and she could not escape it. She could not relax because she was afraid that it would envelope her, suffocate her. She had never quite experienced this fear before. Perhaps it was the subway car, being underground always made her nervous, like being underwater.
Suddenly she felt as if she were actually swimming underwater, going deeper and deeper into the unexplored regions of the huge sea soon to be lost forever, and The Prick inserted itself once more into her cunt and Melanie felt her identity slip away.
She must have lost consciousness for she awoke several minutes later and did not know where she was. She thought for a moment that she was still in Ed Feeley's bed with Byron Peebody's beautiful ass in her face. Instead it was the harsh, swollen clothes of The Prick that was so deep inside of her that it seemed like it could never get out.
Then she remembered Dr. Hornblown's teachings: ecstasy could come from the most unexpected places; she thought perhaps this was The Prick that would give her The Big O and suddenly she felt grateful to it and to the chance it was giving her. She waited for her orgasm to start, but it did not. The prick was too demanding and frightened her too much, so she could not relax.
"Out, out" she screamed and tried to squirm from under The Prick and could not move it an inch. Rape! That's what this is she said to herself. Rape! The Prick does not care who I am or if I enjoy it. All it wants is a hole to put it into. Melanie thought sadly of how different she was from that sweet girl from Connecticut who had married Tom Adams because he was the right boy to marry-until their honeymoon when she discovered that he was all wrong-all wrong for any girl!
The Prick kept on and on and her cunt felt like it would give out; it was worn out, the walls were caving in. She wanted no more, no more! She just wanted to be alone, and The Prick knew this and got bigger because of it, and it forced itself again and again into the unwilling cunt.
Slowly the doors of the car began to close and the train started to move again. She could feel The Prick hesitate for a moment, fearful and apprehensive. Then it exploded inside of her and finally removed itself. Opening her fearful eyes, she looked up at The Prick and saw it belonged to a man with a plaid woolen shirt and a mechanic's cap.
The Prick tipped his hat and slowly walked to the other end of the car. But before he did, he very nicely said, "Thank you, ma'm!"
At the next station several people got into the car. They all looked at Melanie in an astonished manner.
Abruptly she realized she was sitting there with her legs still opened, in a dazed condition. She drew her body up sharply and tried to straighten her clothing. At the next station she saw The Prick leave the car. But before he left, he saluted her.
Damn, she thought to herself, and waited for the next stop. It was Wall Street, and Melanie left the car hurriedly, raced up the stairs ran to her office, and into the restroom where she tried to put herself back together again.
As she was combing her hair she realized something startling. After The Prick had thanked her, she had not seen the other riders as pricks. Sighing she wondered if this meant she could ride the subway without going through her usual torture.
It seemed to Melanie at this point that trying to be an independent American girl, responsible for her own Big O, was a terribly difficult job. When she heard Dr. Hornblown talking about changing her life, it all seemed so easy. But in reality was it?
What had The Prick to do with the ending of her anxieties on the subway. Did she just not have more anxieties because what had happened to her was so dramatic that she could not feel anything as strong afterwards?
Refreshing her lipstick, she reminded herself that these were questions she must ask Dr. Hornblown. When she talked to him everything was so straight and so simple.
When Melanie went to her desk she was surprised at the amount of people in the office. More than three-quarters of the office personnel were seated at their desks and it was only eight a.m. They were all busy scribbling notes and waiting for the Stock Market board to light up.
Melanie wondered if all the people in her office had The Big O what would happen to the Stock Market. Would it go up or would it go down? Would the experience of ecstasy make people lazy and indifferent to money ... or would it energize them, as Dr. Hornblown taught.
Suddenly Melanie realized that was why so many people did not want The Big O. They were happy in their lives, living out a formularized existence. If they had The Big O everything would have to change ... the whole world would have to change!
Apprehensively she noted to herself that she must not think this way. When Dr. Reique did, they put him in jail to die like a pauper instead of the brilliant unique genius he was.
Why was uniqueness frowned upon? When a stock was new the brokers loved to take risks on it. Why not on sensuality? Why did her husband prefer to beat her than to make love to her? Why did St. Anne need a whole tribe of vacuous men, rather than just one man? Why did Jack the painter-bartender need live female paintings and not male ones.
I'd better turn off my mind, Melanie said to herself, or I'll never get through the day. As she settled down with paper and pencil she saw Ed Feeley march in and wave his little finger to her, beckoning her to come into his office.
"Oh, Melanie, I am so grateful to you," he said when she entered his office. "Let me buy you a donut!" He rang the buzzer and ordered two donuts and two containers of coffee.
Melanie recalled the first time she had shared her morning coffee with Mr. Feeley; she hoped he was not in that sort of mood again. Remember, she warned herself, Dr. Hornblown said to save my sexual energy ... not to waste it on anything or anyone.
"My whole life has changed," he went on, and when Melanie asked him how, he gave her a detailed description of his session with the good doctor and what had happened later ... and now Byron is going to move in with me! Isn't that sensational?"
The phone rang, and when Mr. Feeley answered it she could hear that he was disturbed. "Yes ... oh no, Mrs. Peebody ... oh yes ... oh no ... not if you don't want him to ... yes ... No ... No ... yes...." When he put the receiver down his face was white and he burst into tears, burying his head in his arms. Melanie tried to console him but he would not stop crying.
The door to the office opened and the coffee girl said, "Two donuts and two coffees sir." Melanie took the order, but the girl waited for money. Mr. Feeley looked up with his teary face and said, "Charge it!"
"What on earth is the matter, Edward?" Melanie asked very concerned. He had seemed so happy before that phone call. What possibly could have happened?
"It's Byron's mother ... she ... she said if Byron comes to live with me ... she will remove her entire estate from my control....You know I'm her stock broker ... and that will leave me penniless! I've relied on the Peebody estate for years ... it's been my mainstay! Ohhhhhh ... what am I going to do, dear girl?" He began sobbing again and pounding his fists on the desk. Melanie could see the people in the outer office looking in curiously. She tried to wave them away but the blighters kept staring in the glass windows.
Furiously Melanie rose and pulled down the plastic blinds. "What are you doing, Melanie? You'll start a lot of gossip!" Mr. Feeley moaned between his sobs.
"Never mind about them," Melanie said firmly. "You have to decide something very important in your life, Edward. Do you want to be happy as a functioning human being or do you want to have a large bank account?"
"I-I don't know" Mr. Feeley replied helplessly, wiping the tears from his cheeks. As usual, he appealed to Melanie's compassion. She always felt so much sympathy for him especially now ... he had this very important decision to make ... a decision that would affect the rest of his life!
"Well-have you been happy up until now?" Melanie asked knowing the answer to her question beforehand, but she felt it would do Mr. Feeley good to restate his old unhappiness.
"Uh-well-uh-not really."
"Edward!" Melanie said strongly. "Remember that night at your house ... you cursed the fact that you could never really enjoy yourself ... not with women and not with men. Remember?"
He nodded sloppily.
"Well-now with Dr. Hornblown's help you have broken through ... you can fuck whomever you want! Isn't that worth money in the bank?"
He nodded again sloppily, still weeping.
"What good is the big house, the servants, the parties, if you can't fuck? Huh, tell me?" Melanie was getting very worked up. She realized at this moment that she might have a calling. Maybe she could be one of the good doctor's disciples too; it seemed to come naturally enough to her.
"But Melanie ... my image ... no one will love me if I'm broke ... no one!"
Impatiently she pulled his head up in her hands. "In the first place, Edward, you won't be broke. You'll just be living on less money. You can cut down on expenses. You don't have to go out to fancy restaurants every night. You and Byron can live in a smaller apartment and cook home. And you certainly have enough clothes to last the rest-" Melanie stopped, she did not want to discourage Mr. Feeley by reminding him of his advanced age.
He picked up his head and looked happier. "That's all true! And I do have insurance just in case!"
"Insurance? What kind of insurance?" she asked. "Well, life insurance and health insurance and car insurance and theft insurance and fire insurance and."
....
She stopped him in mid-sentence. "Edward, do you have a family?"
"No!"
"So who's the insurance for?"
"Well ... everyone has insurance, right?"
"Wrong!" she said and picked up the phone. Asking for Mrs. Peebody's number she gave Edward the phone. "Tell her, no dice!" she said.
He did as Melanie had suggested. Then he dialed his home number and asked Byron to meet them for lunch....
"We're going out to celebrate, Melanie, my dear girl. We're going out to celebrate my new life!"
Melanie opened her container of coffee and munched on her donut. She knew beforehand that this would be an exhausting day. How could she preserve her sexual energy? Once the ball started, she could not stop it.
Oh darn, she thought. I don't really have to tell Dr. Hornblown. I'll just keep it a secret! With that decision made she went to the ladies' room to fix her face for what she knew would be a long-remembered and famous lunch in the history of Condon's the very chic and expensive restaurant where they were to meet Byron at noon.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As Edward and Melanie enter Condon's, Byron Peebody is waiting at the bar. He is an outstanding man; his face reeks of sensuality; his mouth suggests kissing; his body is posed so the center of attention is his cock which is showing through his tight pants. His eyes are mocking the other luncheon patrons. He is the center of attraction in the room; both men and women cannot take their eyes from him, and he knows it.
Melanie feels Edward trembling as soon as he spots Byron. Byron looks up at his expected companions, and his mouth breaks out in a wide grin. Spontaneously both Melanie and Edward lean over to kiss it.
Suddenly Melanie remembers that Edward does not know that she has met Byron before-and right in his own bed! She flushes, turns from Byron and orders a martini from the bartender who is standing near Byron, staring at him.
Edward takes Byron's arm affectionately but Byron moves away slightly toward Melanie. Edward looks hurt, and Melanie realizes that this is going to be a difficult lunch. She does not want to hurt Edward but at the same time she can feel her cunt reacting to Byron's sensuality.
At that moment a stiff head waiter who has been watching them announces to Edward that his table is ready. He has reserved a discreet table upon seeing the group; his many years of pubic life has made him very intuitive.
From their round and rather luxurious table the trio can watch everything that is going on in the dining room and bar, but they also feel a certain privacy for their booth is enclosed on each side. Instead of Byron being seated in the middle as Edward would have preferred, Byron sidesteps and arranges for Melanie to be seated between him and his patron.
A second round of drinks has been ordered, and Edward is beginning to giggle. Melanie feels his hand moving across the space beneath the table towards Byron's cock, but Byron guides it under Melanie's dress.
She is wearing no panties, having disposed of the ones The Prick ruined for her. Edward's hesitant fingers begin to manipulate her cunt which is moistened already. Melanie wishes she were anyplace but in that restaurant! She feels that everyone is looking at their table, trying to see what is going on.
She is right. Everyone instinctively knows something is going on and they are peering over their creamy lunches but to no avail. All they see are two very well-dressed men with a girl seated between them.
Then Byron's hand joins Edward's. They lock and as one begin to manipulate Melanie. A third round of drinks is ordered and Melanie thinks, what the hell! Dr. Hornblown will never know!"
Sipping her drink she simultaneously moves her hands to both men's crotches. She zips down Edward's fly quickly, Byron's is more difficult; it has buttons and snaps so he helps her. In a flash, both cocks are dangling. The difference is that Byron's is hot and ready and ready while Edward's is limps and slim.
There's the real difference, Melanie thinks to herself. All my life I've been in the company of limp slim cocks. Why haven't I gone after the Byron's of the world. What am I afraid of? The competition? And is there any competition? Or do I just not trust the ever-present cock? Is it for real? Does it turn on just for me? Or for anyone at anytime at anyplace? And is that what I fear?
Yes, that's what Dr. Hornblown tells me, and that's what's been happening. That's why I still haven't had The Big O! As she is thinking these sad thoughts, Melanie's hands squeeze Byron's cock too tightly, and he winces slightly. She leans over and whispers in his ear that she is sorry and hopes she has not hurt him.
But she really wants to hurt him! For he belongs to Edward and not to her, and she knows it. She remembers the pleasures of the night before. She used her eyes for the first time when she was fucking. For Byron is so lovely that she did not want to miss any expression or any movement of his body. He knows this is usually the case and throws it up to his....
She remembered at one point coming and opening her eyes to see Byron smiling at her, as if posing for a photograph. Other men always looked somewhat like they were in pain when they were about to come, but not Byron. Has he perfected this by spending hours in front of his mirror masturbating? Or does he just smile provocatively all the time? Or was he just trying to cover up his real feelings? She did not know and felt puzzled.
Of course he was a homosexual, and she had never gone to bed with a homosexual before except for Edward, but Edward was old, and she had made love to him out of generosity rather than out of desire. She pulled at Byron's cock again as the two hands probed her cunt. A huge drop of cunt juice fell on the dining room floor. Oh, oh, I'll never be able to walk out of here, she thought as the first course of luncheon was served.
The waiter stood by the table and watched the unique sight. Each one of her male companions was feeding Melanie. It was as if she had no arms, a fact that the waiter knew was not true because he could see the beginnings of her arms. Why wasn't the young lady feeding herself?
He could not know that her hands were busy fingering her companion's cocks. With the salad course Byron leaned over to Edward and Melanie and said, "I'm coming," and suddenly the waiter felt a spurt of white fluid on his sleek black trousers. He could not understand where it came from, they were not eating Roquefort dressing but were having a simple oil and vinegar dressing. Scratching his head he asked another waiter to watch his station while he retired to the kitchen to try to wipe off the fluid.
The trio was hysterical. "Good aim," Melanie whispered to Byron as Edward emptied his sperm in her hand. She looked at him a little annoyed. He could have warned her. "May I have a napkin?" she asked and soon was wiping Edward Feeley's sticky sperm on the very expensive linen of Condon's famous downtown restaurant.
The wine was served, and now the mood of the lunch approached ecstatic humor. Everyone and everything began to look funny to them. After one glass of wine Byron's cock was again renewed, and he asked Melanie to pay attention to it.
She agreed but first she said she must whisper something in his ear. He leaned over and she had her orgasm, so loud that his eardrums were temporarily deafened. For the next few minutes he said, "What?" to everything that was said to him.
"Oh no," Edward Feeley said and Melanie looked up to see a well-dressed matron approaching the table. She guessed it was Byron's mother, come to join them. Those very efficient secretaries back at the office must have told her where they were lunching.
"Mama, darling," Byron said and began rising. Melanie uttered a gasp of apprehension. His cock was still out, and if he leaned too far forward it would show. She covered it discreetly with the very expensive tablecloth, and Byron remembered. Slowly he sat back and asked the waiter to seat his mother.
"Now Byron, what is this I hear about your moving in with Mr. Feeley? Is there something wrong at home? Are you not getting your meals on time? What is it, dear? Why do you want to move."
"Mother, this is no reflection on you, dear!" Byron said as he dug deeper into Melanie's cunt. Mr. Feeley had stopped the minute Mrs. Peebody came into the room. "I just want my independence, and it's easier to move into Mr. Feeley's house than to set up an apartment by myself immediately. And Mr.
Feeley's become my second father ... He paused for a moment. "You know how I miss Papa!"
Mrs. Peebody took out the very expensive handkerchief and wiped the two tiny tears that were exiting from her small beady eyes. Since her husband had passed away, no one could mention him without her eyes tearing.
"But ... darling boy ... what will I do for company? I rely on you!"
"Now Mums ... you know that isn't true. You're always going out to some luncheon or dinner or breakfast. You never see me. Incidentally, will you lunch with us?"
"No ... no ... I'm too upset ... I'm on my way to Dr. Hornblown's.
"Dr. Hornblown?" Melanie blurted before she could stop herself.
"Yes, my dear," Mrs. Peebody said pompously. "Have you heard of him?"
"Well ... yes!"
"Oh ... I guess he's getting very famous ... he certainly charges enough."
"I might be going to him too, Mama. Mr. Feeley's recommended him to me, and as soon as the doctor has some free time-"
"Really, Byron. How can you afford it? I can barely do that. At a hundred and fifty dollars per hour, two hours a week can get a bit rough."
"A hundred and fifty dollars?" Melanie blurted again, and then decided not to say another word. Every time she opened her mouth she said the wrong thing.
"Yes. What do you know about it?" Mrs. 'Peebody questioned her suspiciously.
At this point Byron's sweet sensitive fingers had gotten Melanie's cunt to a point where she could not restrain herself, and she came right in Mrs. Peebody's face.
The old woman looked up astonished and began searching for her silver spectacles. When she found them at last she looked through them, peering at Melanie trying to figure out what is wrong with the girl. "What did you say, dear?"
Edward Feeley poured the wine and asked the waiter for a telephone. Dialing Dr. Hornblown's number (he interrupted him in the middle of a blow job) he announced that there was an emergency at Condon's and could he join them.
"Definitely not!" the good doctor said, and Melanie thought damn Edward, now I'll have to tell the doctor the truth.
"Let me talk to Mrs. Peebody," the doctor said wiping his mouth from the fluid he had just excreted from Valley Warm's cunt, a strip teaser he was treating who could not come.
Mrs. Peebody lifted the phone to her ear and heard the wise doctor's advice about freedom and ecstasy and permission, and when he was finished, she ordered some sherry. Soon she had joined the merry three in their ecstasy, and the trio became a quartet.
"Let's go back to the office," Edward Feeley suggested at about a quarter to four. He knew the place would be empty and wanted to use the privacy of the office to talk to Mrs. Peebody.
They all nodded, and Melanie was soon busy putting cocks back into places and trying to make herself look presentable. When she finally arose, taking Byron's hand, she did not realize that her dress was hiked up in the rear and that her tiny pink ass was showing to the consternation of all the help. Byron did not notice, he was too busy escorting her. Mrs. Peebody could not see without her spectacles, and Edward was paying attention to Mrs. Peebody.
As they walked past the hat-check girl, she whispered something in Melanie's ear. Melanie stopped and tried to smooth down her dress but her perspiration at lunch had stiffened the cotton skirt like a board.
Finally Byron saw and murmured, "Oh, my," and gave her his trench coat for Melanie to wear. Luckily no one else noticed that her skirt was just above her asshole.
When they entered the office most of the people were leaving. Mr. Feeley ushered the party into the board room used only for special occasions. Mr. Feeley brought out Mrs. Peebody's file and put it before her. She began concentrating on the figures, and they began talking business.
In the meantime Melanie and Byron look for new games to play with each other. Melanie led Byron into the President Hool's office. She giggled and smeared her hand in ink and then reaches for Byron's cock. "I'm making a Jack, the painter-bartender painting," she said, but he didn't understand the meaning.
He carried her across the room, her dress hiked, his blue-inked cock in her pink cunt, and they fell on the black leather couch Mr. Hool uses for his clients. Byron had taken some desk implements with him.
"Would you like a nice cold paper knife up your cunt?" he asked Melanie and before she could answer she felt the sharp steel entering her. She looked at Byron's face and saw that he was grinning evilly. He twirled the paper knife around a bit and its steel coldness made Melanie sick. When he removed it there was blood all over the edge. Concerned he kissed her cunt delighted he has hurt her. "Blood! Blood!" he shouts.
Melanie giggles and pushed him away. "It's just my period," she says and Byron is aghast.
He chased her around Mr. Hool's desk and soon captured her. Bending her forward he inserted his huge ready cock in her ass. "Ouch!" she said and fell forward. Byron was fucking her in the ass. Each time he pumped into her a splurt of blood dropped out of her cunt, to soil the very elegant rug. He hurt her but she liked it.
"What are you dears doing?" Edward's voice came piping out. He joined them on the rug, and soon he was pumping away at Melanie's cunt. He was too drunk to realize that he was covered by Melanie's very flesh blood. Splurt. splurt and gobble gobble, Melanie hears as the two cocks meet each other. It is like swabbing a ship's deck!
Mrs. Peebody approached the entrance to the office. She could not see a thing because Mr. Feeley had hidden her spectacles. "What are you all doing?" she asks.
"An exercise taught by Dr. Hornblown!" Edward Feeley explained and kissed Byron's luscious mouth. Melanie's neck had a twitch in it, but the two men kept pumping away, so Melanie relaxed and enjoyed it. For the first time she was filled with two cocks she really likes, front and back. They seem to belong inside of her.
Finally Edward reached out his long slim arms and embraced not only Melanie but Byron too. Byron was very excited and got up to come in Melanie's face. Then Edward did ... then Melanie.
They all sat up, and the men grinned widely. Filled with blood they looked like kids who had had too much ketchup. Melanie sat there looking at her companions. They were patting each other on the back. They had never had such an orgasm.
She was envious. She had not had The Big O. Why don't I follow my doctor's orders, she reprimanded herself and went to wash away the tell tale signs! As she walked by Mrs. Peebody asked Melanie to teach her the exercise. "It's too difficult even for me," Melanie answered truthfully and headed for the bathroom.
When she returned she was still a mess but slightly cleaner. Byron and Edward were in a state of chaos too, and Edward Feeley called for his chauffeur to pick up the lively quartet and deliver them home to their safe beds.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
On Tuesday Melanie did not leave her bed. Her borrowed bed, that is, for Ed Feeley invited Melanie to use his guest room indefinitely.
When she awakened, having decided not to appear at the office, she called and made her excuses to Miss Sweeter. Then she rang for the butler and ordered a huge breakfast; she was famished.
Finishing her toast she heard a timid knock on the door. Giving permission to enter, she saw her employer, Edward Feeley, standing before her. "What's wrong?" he asked truly concerned.
"Yesterday exhausted me!" she said quietly and he felt terribly guilty.
"Don't worry about anything, dear girl. Just rest and get your strength back. I'll handle the office manager." He waved goodbye and soon was whistling his way downstairs to the front door.
Melanie pushed aside her breakfast tray and lay back. Closing her eyes she began to dream again.
She felt her body tingling and opened her eyes. Before her, blurred in golden hue was Byron, his beautiful body naked, his cock erect. He was smiling at her, forcing her to smile back. As she smiled she could feel her legs opening.
Then he was upon her, covering her with the golden hue, and she felt golden too, a golden goddess with her golden god like the statues in the Hindu temples, loving, making love and beautiful.
She moaned, and Byron lay back. She knew he wanted her lips on his cock. Does Edward do this to you? she thought as she leaned over to take the appetizing morsel in her mouth. It was so warm, so full of life, so ready for her.
Her mouth kissed it, and its soft part became harder and harder until her mouth was filled to its brim. She could hear Byron moan and felt his legs go limp. She suddenly felt like the master in the bed. Was Byron's femininity making her the aggressor? Was this womanly, she thought?
But her question was forgotten almost immediately. With a quick movement Byron was on top of her, covering her, entering her. His mouth still held that unique mysterious smile that Melanie thought was so sensuous. As he moved into her cunt, he seemed distant, far away; his thoughts were distant and philosophical; his eyes were teary from the winds of the universe, but then a groan brought him back to her.
Her insides trembled, her heart beat rapidly, her cunt moved away from her, left her body and her mind, to be in a place separate, and it was all Byron's to do as he wished with, to use, to kill, to command. She felt helpless and lost. With no control her body was being taken over by this man who she did not know; it was promising him everything, every pleasure he wished, every obedience.
But she did not trust him. What did he want from her? She knew what she wanted from him: The Big O.
As if he could read her mind, Byron stopped moving and put his mouth on her breasts, kneading, kissing them, the nipples getting tauter and tauter. He removed his cock from her cunt and held her two breasts together, pushing his cock between them and back into her mouth which was open and willing, yes, so willing to take it back.
His face began to redden, and his body began to sweat. She too was wet, and the noises of the wetness between them would have been funny had she been able to listen. But all she was listening to was the beat of her heart, the ache in her cunt, and the movement of their bodies.
Suddenly his body turned purple red and she saw the muscles in it moving, swirling, wanting, needing her, and she opened her mouth and groaned. Her breasts were stiff now, taut with desire, and she was faced with her two nipples staring her in the face and Byron's cock. The trio were demanding her lips and her love.
He swiveled her around and she found herself on her stomach with his cock entering her ass, his fingers grasping for her cunt playing with it, moistening his hand with its moisture. She said yes, yes to his cock in her ass and felt like he was reaching down to Hades for her and bringing her up to heaven.
I am his slave! she thought and buried herself deeper and deeper in her bed, wanting never to return to that other world, wanting to stay where she was permanently, in pleasure's haven.
But then she was being carried across the room, and onto the floor. Byron placed his cock in her again and turned her face. She saw herself confronted by their two images in a mirror. Was that girl Melanie Adams? Was that girl really me? It could not be! The girl before her looked like a stranger to her, and she turned her head and put it on Byron's chest.
Byron was fascinated with his image, and she saw herself being fucked, Byron looking at his own image, and the image of her rear. His eyes never left the mirror and the reflection of himself.
He turned her face towards the reflection and kissed her face in the mirror, and Melanie felt split. This is schizophrenia! she thought, and she suddenly understood all of the people who could not accept the many-sided facets of themselves and went mad.
She felt mad. She wanted to get away from Byron and go deeper into his flesh at the same time. The struggle was tearing her apart, and her pleasure could not be released. But Byron was not so distracted, and she heard his moans of pleasure fill the room till his body lay limp on top of her.
She opened her eyes and the room was sunny. Looking around she saw she was alone. Had Byron really been there? Had he left? Had he taken his pleasure and exited quickly? She reached down towards her cunt; it was wet all right, and wetter than she ever remembered. She looked around the bed; it looked like a tornado had hit it. He must have been there ... or was he? Sighing, closing her eyes again, Melanie realized she was not really sure of anything.
The door opened, and Robert the butler was apologetically announcing St. Anne. "She insisted on seeing you, Miss Melanie," he explained, and St. Anne strode into the bedroom.
"You touched me, dear girl," the tall woman announced. "And people who touch me I'm nice to ... so I've got something for you. Come in, Richard."
A tall man with a huge red mane walked into the room. He was dressed in dull silver armor. His smile was sweet and his piercing blue eyes were covered with blue-tinted glasses. Melanie could see her reflection in both lenses.
He bowed from the waist and took his finely embroidered leather gloves from his hands. Placing them up his sleeve he sat down in an armchair facing the bed and folded his arms. Under his armor he was wearing crepe tights.
"Melanie, my dear girl, I don't feel quite right about letting you roam about this city alone. So I hunted up a bodyguard for you. This Richard de Lions. He is from a small town in Kentucky and is the finest gentlemen I've ever met."
At this comment the armored bodyguard grunted. "Oh, how dear and kind of you, St. Anne," Melanie said gratefully. "I was just wishing for someone to lean on, my life is an unbearable round of events. You wouldn't believe what-"
"Yes, I do, my dear! Your charm and winsome ways have a powerful effect on everyone about you. I can rest easy now that I know Richard de Lions is with you all the time."
"Yes, St. Anne, but what about ... about...." Melanie was apprehensive; she had learned she could trust no one.
"Don't worry, Melanie," St. Anne counseled. "Sir Richard has taken the vow of celibacy of the St. Anne tribe. My tribe can only fuck in groups not as singles."
"Oh?"
"Yes, it's the new wave ... the new wave of love groups!"
"Thank you!"
"Yes. Well, give us a kiss on the old cheek," St! Anne said gruffly and Melanie reached up to kiss her guardian. As she did, the sheet fell backwards and revealed a soft round breast. Sir Richard moved noisily in his chair.
With a grand salute, St. Anne left them alone.
"Well, Sir Richard, it looks as if we're going to be spending a lot of time together, huh?" Melanie said trying to be sociable.
"Grunt," was his answer.
"Would you be good enough ... could you reach for my robe in that closet?" Melanie asked hoping there would be a robe there. She did not want to take the time to explain to him that she did not live here.
Sir Richard rose slowly, his armor noisily unbending and uncurling, and pointed to the door on his left. "Grunt?" he asked.
Melanie nodded her head. He reached into the closet and produced a bathrobe two sizes too large for the girl.
"Thank you!" She said and began covering her body with the robe.
"Grunt, grunt!" Sir Richard de Lions said and roughly removed the robe.
"What's wrong, Sir Richard?" she asked.
"I am your bodyguard!" he said clearly and emphatically.
The young girl shook her head in agreement.
Then Sir Richard pounced on Melanie's poor body and began thrashing about, armor and all.
"Then I guard your body!" he said and produced a cock that could certainly do just that.
CHAPTER TWENTY
"I lead a fruitless life," Robert the butler was singing the next morning as Melanie and Sir Richard entered the kitchen. Feeling claustrophobic Melanie had suggested to Sir Richard as he was coming for the fifth time that they dress and have breakfast. After her many protestations the night before he had finally removed his silver armor.
When he had, she saw that a large red cross had been burned into the flesh of his chest. "The St. Anne mark," he explained. Then he saw her cross and was delighted.
"Not even orange juice," Melanie told Richard as she looked into the refrigerator.
"It's not good for my stomach!" Richard said.
Shrugging her shoulders Melanie poured two cups of coffee for Sir Richard and herself. What were they going to do with the rest of the day, she thought. And where were they going to sleep tonight. Of course, if they crept in after Mr. Feeley was asleep it would probably be all right. But she would need a key.
"Robert, could I have a key to the house for tonight? We don't know when we'll be back, and I'd hate to awaken you?"
"Depends," the butler murmured as he put the hot iron he was using on Mr. Feeley's shirts; he did all of his master's laundry himself.
"On what?" she asked.
Robert raised his head. His eyes began to flutter and his head shook. He walked over to the couple at the table, and as he did Melanie was completely astonished at his change of character. Usually reserved, Robert was flirtatious and giggly.
"On that big hunk of man you've got with you ... da, da, dee," he sang.
"What do you mean?" Sir Richard asked pompously.
"Oh you know, dearie ... a little suck ... you'll like it."
Sir Richard stood up at once and knocked Robert on his ass. The poor butler began crying and Melanie felt sorry for him.
"Now Richard ... you're only supposed to protect me. Why did you hit Robert? He was just asking," Melanie said annoyed.
"For morality," the knight boomed and sat down again, clanging his armor.
"Morality, what's morality?"
"The difference between right and wrong," the huge man said, wondering if Melanie was a moron.
"What about the difference between need and not?" she asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean St. Anne thinks I need a bodyguard, and I think not," Melanie tossed over her shoulder as she left the room.
Morality! That's what her husband told her was the reason they couldn't fuck, only under certain conditions. Bullshit! Sir Richard was obviously threatened in some way by Robert's suggestion. Disgusted, she left the house.
Once in the street, she realized it was a rainy day. When she was a child she would always go to a movie when it rained. So Melanie headed for the main street in the village where there were several movie houses.
Clang! Clang!
She peered over her shoulder and saw the massive knight following her. No one noticed him especially; they just thought he was doing his thing!
She paid her admission and took a seat in the balcony but-Clang! Clang!-Sir Richard followed her and took a seat right behind her.
The movie was about a girl who had many sexual adventures. It was a Swedish import and very, very naked. At the end of the film, Greta, the heroine, finds love and gets married.
Watching the film Melanie was very restless. Maybe she should go to Sweden, she thought. It seemed from the movie that there a girl could have experiences. The only thing she didn't like about the film was the ending. Why should anyone want to get married if they were having such a good time! She was angry. Art should be drawn from real-life situations not fabricated from and for a plastic mind. Disgustedly she started to get up from her seat.
Then she felt the iron paw of Sir Richard on her breast. Stiffening she turned and looked into his beady blue eyes. Obviously he was not bored with the movie. In fact, he looked quite turned on.
Two homosexuals were sitting near them. They were giggling and making smoochy sounds. Then had an army blanket covering their bodies. Melanie was puzzled. What on earth were they doing covered up in the middle of summer?
"Let's watch the movie again," Sir Richard suggested, and Melanie then realized she had not called her office that morning. "Oh dam! I'm probably out of a job!" she said as the Swedish titles flashed on the screen. Greta, the heroine appeared again, sitting in bed, her legs wide open.
Sir Richard grabbed Melanie's crotch. His iron paw was stiff and cold. She tried to back away from him, but it did not good. He had a strong arm around her shoulders.
What on earth am I going to do? she thought. I'll have no cunt left for Dr. Hornblown to work with over the weekend. What has been happening to me? Can't I have a rest, even for a little while?
She began crying, and Sir Richard looked down on her puzzled. "Please, Sir Richard!" she pleaded. "Please, no more!" She heard her two homosexual neighbors giggling while they watched her, fascinated.
Greta was on her back getting fucked by two girls and a man and Sir Richard took Melanie's soft face in his steel hands. She wondered where the soft embroidered gloves he wore the day before were. Obviously he had changed for some reason.
Suddenly he began taking the iron gloves off and underneath them were the soft gloves she remembered. That's how everyone is, Melanie thought, they wear their outer armor of steel until they're sure that their soft more delicate real selves will be accepted. Then it is usually too late because the steel has already ruined the job.
Melanie wanted, to leave the movie theater. She put her head on her huge sweet knight and asked if there was any private place they could go to. Sir Richard's eyes lit up, his hand caught hers and soon they were walking briskly down the street.
They entered a bar where signs were plastered on the walls advertising how cheap the whiskey was. As Richard walked in, the bartender nodded to him. He guided Melanie to a stairway at the rear of the room, then to another tiny stairway and a little roof. A huge door stood before them. Richard took a large golden key and unlocked the massive door. As it opened, Melanie gasped with surprise.
The room was an underwater castle! There were large glass tanks where all sorts of beautiful strange fish were swimming, some of them lighting the room, giving a psychedelic effect to the atmosphere.
Sir Richard laughed and began tossing off his armor. Soon he was down to his very brief skivvies. He had a wonderful body! St. Anne was right; he was a perfect body-god.
Then he began undressing Melanie. Soon she stood naked before him. He picked her up and plunged them both into one of the glass tanks. Sir Richard obviously knew his way around fish for he guided Melanie deeper and deeper saying hello to the fish they met. Then he began fucking her.
Melanie felt as if she were floating. Immersed in the tank, she felt the scales of the fish swimming by. They excited her, especially the ones with a little light attached to their head. "I love you," Richard whispered, and Melanie was amazed that he could talk underwater.
She thought she would need to go up for breath, but Richard had little implements on the sides of the glass cage and put one on her mouth. It was oxygen. "We can stay here forever," he said, and Melanie began to relax, safe in his powerful arms.
Then with a couple of his fishy friends, Sir Richard began fucking Melanie again, endlessly, wantonly, until she came so hard that she broke the oxygen tubing and they had to go up for air.
Giggling he brought out two heavy towels for them to dry themselves off. Melanie looked up at him. If only he would speak to her! But Richard did not speak, he only smiled. Could she be with a man she could not talk with? Her husband used to talk a lot, but he never fucked her. And here was this huge powerful beautiful man who fucked a lot but never talked!
Wearily she lay her head on his chest. She was tired, too tired to think about it. She would think about it tomorrow....
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
On Thursday Melanie woke up dry. Dry in mouth, dry in heart, and dry in cunt. When Sir Richard tried to fuck her, his cock was skinned in half.
"Bitch," the polite knight said to her and threw her out of his bed. It was a sling bed, chained to the ceiling with a four-feet drop. So when Melanie fell out, it really hurt.
She struggled to get up and put on her clothes quickly "Fuck body gods," she said as she made her way down the fragile stairwell, through the whiskey-smelling bar, out to the street.
Tomorrow was the day! she thought excitedly. She went to a phone booth and called Ed Feeley. Arranging to pick up her weekly paycheck she decided to spend the entire day buying new clothes for the weekend. She couldn't possibly get into trouble that way.
The department store was beautifully decorated. Well-dressed women moved gracefully; their scents were wonderful. Melanie felt like quite a pauper. The last few days' activities had changed her appearance. She would buy a whole new look she decided, from shoes to new hairdo.
In the shoe department she sat down and asked for several styles of shoes. The young man assisting her was very helpful. As she tried on each shoe his hand massaged the soles of her feet, giving her prickly sensations. After the first few pairs, she tried to handle the shoes herself, but he looked so hurt she gave up the idea.
She chose a pair quickly. She could not try on another or she would come right on the spot.
"Shall I wrap them?" he asked.
She said that she would wear them. As he put them on her feet, he tickled her toes again, and she could not help squeaking, "Oops!"
Walking quickly she entered the undergarment department. Melanie had always worn padded bras, but the last few days activities had seemed to swell her breasts. She asked the plump matronly saleswoman for advice about a new type of bra.
"Well, we'll really have to fit several!" she said and led Melanie back into the private dressing room. "Now, would you mind undressing so I can suggest something for you."
Melanie unbuttoned her blouse and removed her tight bra.
"Oh yes, my dear, you need something much looser. You can hardly breathe in that thing," the woman said. "Now let me see." Mrs. Paterson according to the tag on her massive left breast, began manipulating Melanie's breasts with her mammoth hands. Melanie began blushing, even her doctor didn't give her such a thorough examination.
"Yes! Yes!" Mrs. Paterson kept saying, as she continued to trace the lineage of Melanie's nipples. Finally impatient, Melanie stepped away and asked to see a few bras.
The woman seemed chagrined. She put her massive hands on her massive hips. "Yes, dearie," she said and disappeared. Less than five minutes later she returned carrying half a dozen boxes under her arm.
"Now, this is an exquisite garment-and look how exquisitely it fits you," Mrs. Paterson cooed as she helped Melanie get into a bra that was cut to show half of her breasts. This pushed her breasts sideways giving her an off-balance sensation. "Look at the way they bounce," Mrs. Paterson said and stepped aside to let Melanie walk towards the mirror and observe the motion of her breasts in the bra. To Melanie her breasts looked like little tomatoes ready to be plucked.
"Do you have anything less stressing?" she asked the woman.
Mrs. Paterson took this question as an opportunity to pick up Melanie's left breast and bounce it against the bra. "See that! dear? When you're older, you'll regret not making use of that."
Nevertheless Melanie said impatiently, "May I see the others."
The next bra was a see-through bra. Melanie's tiny nipples looked like one of the little rosebuds embroidered on the bra. Only on close observation could you tell it was a nipple. But the bra was too scratchy from all the embroidery.
"No!" Melanie said firmly, removing the bra before Mrs. Paterson could give her sales pitch with demonstration. "Next, please!"
The next bra was a cotton lace with under wiring which pushed the nipples up so far Melanie thought she could probably eat her own breasts. She remembered the words of the wise Mau Mau poet about clothing. He was right: Clothing should not restrict bodies.
"Do you have anything less restricting?" Melanie asked, and the woman nodded her head nervously and brought out a tiny bra which was just a couple of straps. Melanie looked at herself in the mirror and thought it was a waste of money. Why buy a bra that simply outlines your breasts. "No, no-none of these will do!"
Mrs. Paterson giggled and produced the last box. "This my child, you will love!" she promised with a sudden Jewish accent. Then she took out the bra of delights. It was lemonade color and was fastened by a new plastic snap. With a touch of the finger it fell off immediately.
"Hmmm!" Melanie said. That is practical, she thought, and shook her head. "I'll take that," she said to the large woman who was clasping her hands with joy.
"Your young man will be very lucky," she said as she gave Melanie another feel job.
"Where's the resort shop?" Melanie asked as she hurried from the undergarment department. Quickly she made her way to the third floor.
As she walked into the salon a bright-blue-eyed girl with long blonde pigtails approached her. She was wearing an American flag. "Hi!" she said in a friendly manner, "I'm Susan Flaming."
"I'm looking for something for a weekend in the country," Melanie asked.
"What country?" the blonde girl asked, her eyelashes fluttering.
"Why-why this country!"
"Oh, good!" Susan was happy about that; she did not get commissions on anything but America.
"What size are you?" she asked.
"I don't know anymore!"
"Oh, well. Hmmmmmmmm...." Miss Flaming was looking at Melanie and could not figure her size out either. Eternally optimistic, she picked one outfit from every rack.
"Come, this way," she said and led Melanie down a corridor decorated like an ocean liner. In one of the staterooms, Miss Flaming hung the clothes.
"Now, would you, errr ... like me to stay?"
Melanie looked at the girl carefully. She looked genuinely helpful. After Mrs. Paterson, though, she couldn't make up her mind.
"Well, I will," Susan said and began unbuttoning one of the new outfits. Melanie decided that her reserved attitude was okay.
"Now this is a genuine Ritzi!" the salesgirl announced as she unfolded a bright pink chiffon.
"Oh, but I'm going to a farm!"
"Well-my dear-everyone is wearing these at the farm, really!" Her convincing manner encouraged Melanie to try it on.
As Melanie stepped out of her skirt her tiny panties were too low, probably some of Mrs. Paterson's doings, she thought. She hadn't realized the old woman had gotten to the lower part of her body too. As she looked into the yiirror she realized that her cunt cross showed.
"My God, are you a head?" the salesgirl asked excitedly, her eyes popping.
"Ahead of what?" Melanie questioned.
"A head! A head! You know I got my first cross when I was three in Flamishtown, Pennsylvania. We did it early there!"
Melanie shrugged her shoulders and began putting on the pink chiffon. It was miles too big, but Susan already had a box of safety pins out and was pinning it in strategic places. "You have no idea how many heads come into this place!" she continued. "Wait a second!" She pulled the curtains to the stateroom aside and looked to either side of the corridor.
"Good! It's lunch hour!" she announced and pulled her blouse apart. Melanie thought, oh, oh, another Mrs. Paterson, but not so. On Susan's breasts were taped little cigarettes, rolled delicately. "I'm flat-chested!" she explained as she took one of the tiny darlings. Then she took a pack of matches from her pocket.
"Can you smoke in here?" Melanie asked, confused.
"Yea! Yea!" the girl answered and lit up the thin white roll. She inhaled a couple of drags and handed it to Melanie, "Oh, no thanks! Don't smoke. Never learned."
"Come on! You don't have to pretend!" the salesgirl said contentedly. "Here!"
Shrugging her shoulders, Melanie took the little roll. She put it to her lips to draw. The paper burned her mouth and the smoke choked her, but she managed to swallow the smoke. After she did, she felt a very pleasurable sensation.
"Gee, that's good. Where'd you get it?"
A strange look came over the salesgirl's face that Melanie could not decipher. "Oh, a friend!" she said and finished off the delicate thing.
Then looking in the mirror to check her eyelashes which Melanie had guessed were false, Susan Flaming again became the saleslady. "Nowerr-how it is this?"
"It's much too large."
"Not really. Think of all the food you're going to eat ... unless...." She stopped and looked intently into Melanie's eyes. "You aren't popping pills are you?" she asked.
Melanie nodded. She felt she had to.
"Well. Then I guess I'd better go out and get you another size!" the salesgirl said grimly as if she hated to leave the stateroom.
"Oh, you're dropping the ashes on the floor. Really!" Susan said, leaning over and brushing the ashes from the rug. As she did, her American flag split. "Oh," she said quietly. "I guess I'll have to fix this first!"
"No hurry! I think I'll have some lunch. I'm exhausted," Melanie said. She was feeling a little dizzy.
"Gee," Susan said sadly. "I just don't have any ups. I'm out. Can't help you."
Melanie looked at the girl, the American flag was beginning to fall from her shoulders.
"How do you get through the day?" Melanie asked sympathetically, thinking of her difficulties with her own job.
"Oh!" Susan Flaming said, her eyes bright with sincerity, "I take two sleeping pills every morning!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
When Melanie finished lunch she decided she would splurge on one exceptional outfit. Making her way to the shop called Fashions From Space she was stopped at the door by a tall dark giant, dressed in a flowing robe.
"May I help you, madame?" he said. She could not quite place his accent.
"Yes, I'd like to go into the shop," she answered, motioning beyond the door.
"Ah, but madame, we must first have some information on you. Please follow me." He folded his arms and began walking to a private booth. As she stepped in, she saw there was a tape recorder in the corner.
"What-what is this all about?" Melanie asked, puzzled.
"This is a very new shop, and we want to record our customer's needs," he said. "Now tell me what is it you're looking for."
Melanie shrugged her shoulders. She really didn't know.
"Well could you describe part of what you want," he asked helpfully. "Maybe if I introduce myself you'll feel more at ease. My name is Murray."
"Hi," Melanie said and wished she had never had this idea.
"I'm from Egypt-Old Testament," the dark man said.
"Oh," Melanie began feeling uneasy, what did he mean.
"I have a certificate from my government for twenty-five years of service."
"But you're such a young man!" Melanie blurted out before she knew what she was saying.
He smiled at her. His smile was positively mysterious, and she saw traces of gold powder in the creases of his face.
"Well perhaps it would be better to have you look at our shop, and then you can tell us how you feel about it."
Melanie nodded at this suggestion. It was the best idea either one of them had come up with.
Murray, the Egyptian, led her back to a door and opened it for her. As she walked through she saw all of the fashions were in silver or gold, nothing else. She turned around to her companion and he had changed his outfit. He was now wearing a spacesuit, plastic lined with silver. His headpiece was a masterpiece from Ritzi.
"It's very unusual," Melanie said, referring to the clothes. But Murray, the Egyptian spaceman, could not hear a word she was saying and put his ear to her mouth.
"It's very unusual," she said, and he took both her hands and began dancing with her through the shop. His spaceshoes must have had some kind of bouncy sponge on the bottoms because with each step he took he rose closer to the ceiling.
Melanie could not keep up with his dancing and sat down, waving him off. When he saw that she was tired he stopped and took off his helmet.
"What is the matter, madame?" he asked politely.
"These outfits are too expensive for me," she said and started to leave.
"But madame, you have tried nothing on," Murray said.
"Perhaps next time," Melanie said, thinking him.
He pulled his hand out of his pocket and shook a flash at her. "Elixir?" he said. "Elixir?"
Melanie took the tiny glass he offered her. The liquid was dark green, and she drank it all in one gulp.
Suddenly her head was swirling, and she dropped to the floor.
When she opened her eyes she was looking at a very Semitic face. "I'm Danny Missed, the credit manager," the man said. "I've got credit cards from all over the country. I've even got some that are fifty years old."
"Oh!" Melanie gasped and asked for some water. In a few seconds she was being given some by the dark velvet hands of Murray.
"What-what am I doing here?" she asked trying to sit up."
"Our-errrr-Egyptian floorwalker brought you up. He said something about your passing out!"
"Madame fainted, sir," the Egyptian spaceman said politely.
"Yeah, yeah." Mr. Missed looked at his floorwalker. It was obvious he didn't like him.
"Oh ... I'll feel better in a moment," Melanie said.
At the word feel a strange look came over the credit manager's eyes; they became glazy, and his tongue began licking his lips; his smile became positively grotesque.
"Uhhh-I don't think we need you any more, Murray," he announced, rubbing his hands on his soft stomach.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Egyptian spaceman. Please don't go!" Melanie pleaded. Something about Danny Missed reminded her of the look on Jack the painter-bartender's face.
"I said you're dismissed!" Mr. Missed announced again firmly.
But Murray the Egyptian spaceman would not leave. He folded his arms quietly, put his helmet back on his head, and stood quietly at the door to the credit manager's office.
Danny Missed was not to be argued with. He picked up the phone and asked for the personnel office. Then he announced that the tall floorwalker was fired.
Still Murray did not move.
Melanie saw that she must get to her feet in order to avoid a disaster. Danny Missed was peering at her from an unusual angle; he was down on the floor, looking at up her skirt.
She struggled to her feet, gathering up her belongings. Then as politely as she could, she extended her hand in farewell to the credit man.
"Do you know I have a million dollars!" he said, pulling her closer so he could whisper in her ear.
"Oh! that's very nice!" Melanie said automatically. It was her Aunt Hester's answer to everything.
"And another million in Switzerland," the credit man said, taking Melanie's extended hand and putting it in his fly which had mysteriously sprung open.
"Oh! No!" she cried, jumping back. Suddenly Murray unfolded his arms and knocked Mr. Danny Missed, Credit Manager, on his ass.
"You Arab are heathens!" Mr. Missed cried from his sprawling position on the floor. "We'll kill you all!"
Murray did not pay any attention to the dark-haired man and simply lifted Melanie in his arms, opened the door and danced his way out of the store to the amusement of all the shoppers.
Dancing up Fifth Avenue Melanie asked Murray to put her down. "I really have many more errands to do!" she said, thanking him. "I'll never forget you," she said solemnly as she made her way into Botham's Bookmart to buy some books for the weekend.
As she walked up and down the aisles, Melanie was confused about what books to purchase for her country weekend. She did not want anything too meaningful, just some light reading.
Suddenly a book caught her eye: Fauntleroy a book about modem American man. Although Melanie did not think a person could really learn from a book, it was all so generalized, something about this book interested her.
As she approached the cashier she felt an arm around her and looked up into the dark face of Danny Missed. She pulled away and he threw some money in the air. Then, before she could protest, he led her to a chauffeur-driven horse and carriage that was waiting outside the shop.
"But-wait a minute! Where are we going?" Melanie asked.
"Wherever you wish! Rome? Paris? Madrid?"
"I just want to go to the farm!"
"Huh?"
"To the farm, to the farm!" she repeated and gave him Dr. Hornblown's address, and a half-hour later they were in front of the 75th Street brownstone.
Melanie ran out and rang the bell. When Chen Yu answered a look of astonishment came over his face. "Missy is not due till tomorrow!" he announced but Melanie ran past him and up the stairs to the safety of her doctor's study, to rest, read and meditate until it was time to leave for the farm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
At six a.m. the next morning after an uncomfortable dream-filled night on the study couch, Melanie was awakened by Chen Yu. "Doctor sir is ready!" he announced, and Melanie quickly sprinkled cold water on her face and dressed.
Hastily packing her small weekend bag she rushed downstairs to find Dr. Hornblown behind the wheel of a chic air-conditioned white sport car. He held the door open for her and bade her a brief good morning.
"I'm sorry we did not have time for another session!" Dr. Hornblown said quietly as the sleek car rolled downtown. As they passed the Broadway Hotel, memories of St. Anne came into Melanie's mind.
"That's where I had my Bar Mitzvah," Dr. Hornblown said, and Melanie looked at him, astonished.
Soon they were driving out of the city and Dr. Hornblown motioned to Melanie that her seat could be used as a bed. With a flick of a switch she found herself horizontal, comfortable and asleep again. Soon she was dreaming of St. Anne, Jack, the painterbartender, Edward Feeley, Mrs. Peebody and her son, Byron, Tim Timberly, the Mau Mau poet, Richard de Lions, the tall knight, Danny Missed and Murray the Egyptian spaceman. They were all in a circle, holding hands and singing, "Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush," and she was the Mulberry Bush. She was sitting naked in the center of the circle, a spray of mulberry blossoms blooming from her cunt, almost reaching her waist. She felt perfumed, fresh, and new ... like spring.
When she awoke finally she found herself in the country, somewhere in a low valley. A charming farmhouse was ahead of them, behind which were smaller houses, three in all.
The doctor stopped the car and a small, plump white-haired woman came out of the door to greet them. "I'm Addie Bradford" she said, her pink cheeks glowing. "Come into the house!"
Her warm manner endeared Melanie to her at once. Melanie's nervousness began to fade as the woman put her arm around her and showed her into the house.
"Come into the kitchen. I have a hot piping breakfast waiting for you! Make yourself comfortable."
Relaxing in one of the chairs, Melanie looked about. her. Here was a real home. Every kind of kitchen utensil was hanging there. A large stove was in the center of the room, and a huge table with a dozen chairs filled the center.
"You must have a large family!" Melanie said politely.
"Yeah." Mrs. Bradford hummed as she filled the large black coffee pot with fresh water.
A slim scholarly man in overalls entered the kitchen. He shook hands with Dr. Hornblown' and turned to greet Melanie. "This is Malcom Bradford," Dr. Hornblown said. "Now Malcolm, will you show me where I can put our things."
The gentle man smiled and took one of the bags Dr. Hornblown was carrying. As he guided him out of the kitchen his wife yelled "Yeoh ... don't you want any breakfast, doc?"
"The doctor will have his breakfast on a tray in his room, Addie. You know that!" her husband said sternly.
The woman blushed and nodded her head several times. Then she took a glass from the sidebar which was half filled with water and took a great big gulp.
"Do you have blueberry muffins?" Melanie asked, amazed at her forwardness.
"No time at all!" the elderly lady said and began mixing a battej in a large bowl. As she worked she hummed to herself and drank from the large water glass.
Melanie just relaxed. She was laughing at herself. All week she was filled with anxious anticipation about this weekend. What was it going to be like? Where was Dr. Hornblown going to take her? What was going to happen? And the dear old sweet pussycat doctor had just meant for her to have some fresh air and sunshine ... and lots of good homemade food. She was so silly for worrying.
Mr. Bradford returned. "He says he'll have egg foo yong and some tea!" he announced to his wife who immediately began mixing in another bowl and drinking more quickly from the water glass.
In what seemed no time at all, a tray with hot piping egg foo yong and tea was ready for Dr. Hornblown and Melanie was biting into a delicious blueberry muffin and drinking the best coffee she had ever tasted.
All of a sudden Mrs. Bradford had another full glass of water and began gulping it down. "I've got to make lunch," she said and began fussing and banging pots.
"May I help?" Melanie asked and the cheery woman shook her head. "Then I think I'll take a look around."
Melanie felt wonderful as she walked on the rich earth. This is what she was missing, she thought. The city does bad things to people. We should all have a retreat, a place in the country.
In the distance she saw farmhands working the fields, but before she could walk over she heard a loud bell. Knowing instinctively, country girl that she was, that it was the dinner bell, she made her way back to the kitchen to find Mrs. Bradford churning butter in a large barrel. She had already dished up ham hocks and vegetables, and the table was set for eight.
Then she heard the scuffling of many heavy boots, and soon the kitchen was filled with a group of Bradfords, all ages and all male.
"I'm Melanie, what's your name?" she asked the tallest of the group who was washing his hands.
"I'm Ray," he answered, wiping his hands quickly on the paper towel and sitting down at the lunch table.
"And you?" Melanie asked a lovely blonde boy of about seventeen.
"Ray!" he said loudly, trying to get the ham hocks from his brother.
"Oh ... eh ... rrrr ... and you?" she asked brightly of a red-haired chap who was cramming mashed potatoes on his plate.
"Ray," he answered, stuffing mashed potatoes into his mouth.
Melanie was silent. Either she hadn't heard them correctly or they all were named Ray. Fortunately at that moment Malcolm Bradford entered the room. He looked around at the uproarious table and said kindly to Melanie, "I hope the boys aren't making too much noise for you?"
"No ... but ... are they all your sons?" she asked, passing the hot rolls to a delightful brown-haired young man on her right.
"Yes!"
"All seven!"
"Addie? Seven?" he asked.
"Yeohowww," Mrs. Bradford agreed and drank from her water glass. Her cheeks were absolutely ruby red at that very minute.
"Is Ray a family name?" Melanie asked discreetly.
Malcolm Bradford ran his sensitive fingers through his long gray hair. "I don't know. Addie?" he asked.
"Seemed easy!" she giggled, still drinking water.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Bradford, what seemed easy?"
"Seemed like a good way to remember their names. We named them all Ray!"
Melanie sat back and pondered this thought. How wonderful and wise the old woman was. To take labels off her sons, and make them equal, no jealousies, no hatreds....
"That's a great idea!" Melanie said and asked Ray the redhead on her left for the butter.
Everyone grabbed for the butter plate and it fell to the floor. Oh, oh, Melanie thought. There are some , difficulties to this. How can I distinguish one from the other?
"What does HE want to eat?" Addie Bradford snickered, gargling with her water now.
"HE fasts at noon! Don't you remember anything?" her husband said, a little disgruntled.
"Oh ... thank the Lord," she said and opened a cabinet door. Taking out a large bottle she refilled her waterglass.
"Oh, mineral water!" Melanie thought delightedly. This is the way she wanted to live. Fresh vegetables, fresh killed meat, mineral water, vitamins. What's good for the body is good for the soul.
"My goodness, this food is delicious!" she said to the woman. "I'd better not visit too often or I'll get very, very fat."
"Ohyeoooooh! You'll get lots of exercise! Don't worry!"
At this remark all Rays began poking each other, guffawing and staring at Melanie. She could feel the first flush of a blush beginning to overcome her. She did not know what her hostess meant. Especially when she volunteered to help wash the dishes and the older woman waved her away. Drinking from her water glass she said, "Oh, no, dearie. You're a guest of the house."
After lunch all the Rays disappeared with their father telling Melanie they will see her at suppertime. Melanie decided to change and nap for a while.
Putting on the pink chiffon Susan Flaming sold her, Melanie relaxed on the comfortable bed she was to use. Dreamily she dozed off.
A tall dark man enters the gingham bedroom.
He is wearing a dark robe, and she cannot see his face. He pounces on her, tearing the lovely pink chiffon dress down the middle. Then he finds her cunt and swoops two huge lips down to drink its moisture.
Melanie begins to moan. She is gushing cunt juice, it is all over the chiffon, all over the man, his robe, all over the lovely gingham bedspread. She moans again, but her mouth is stopped by the wet kiss of her own cunt from the man's mouth, and she recognizes the taste of herself.
Then he fills her with cock and her worn cunt resists it. It falls out and he pursues it again, this time more firmly, so she feels his cock in the upper regions of her stomach. Then it is up to her heart, and she is moaning with pain and ecstasy combined, wanting him, wanting him never to stop, wanting him never to begin, wanting.
They explode into a gray black cloud and Melanie feels like an atom bomb has been released inside of her. She does not like the color of war, preferring the bright responsive colors of flowers, like mulberry bushes, and she turns from him and buries her head into the gay red and white gingham that is covering the bed.
When the gray has lifted she opens her eyes and wonders again who the stranger was. This time she knows he was there for the dress is still torn, the coverlets are still soiled, and there is blood on her body.
Frightened, she washes and changes. What is happening to her? Even here in the country where she is among friends her cunt cannot rest! Quietly she leaves her room, to walk the grounds, to mediate and contemplate what to tell the good doctor when she is allowed to see him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
As Melanie walks the grounds she is curious about the smaller houses behind the main farmhouse where she is staying. Unlatching the door to the nearest one she sees it is a bunkhouse, obviously for the Bradford sons.
There is a room with seven bunk beds and a large shower. All the towels in the shower room are marked with large Rs, and Melanie again wonders how the Bradford sons know what belongs to whom.
As she leaves the smaller house she meditates on this thought. Perhaps they interchange their possesions in true loving splendor. Perhaps she has come upon a very unique family. Perhaps this is why Dr. Hornblown has brought her here.
She walks to the smaller house on the right of the bunk house. When she opens the door she sees it is only one room, a recreation room. She switches on the light and sees that it is very dim. There are no windows in the room so she enters hesitantly. It is hard for her to see.
As she approaches the center of the room there is a large structure in the middle of it. She steps up and examines it.
"How do you like our love box?" she hears Mrs. Bradford ask from the doorway.
"Is that what it is?" Melanie asks. "I've never seen one this large before!" Dr. Hornblown has had a smaller version in his office but this box is large enough for ten people.
"Do you use it often, Mrs. Bradford?" Melanie asked.
"The family and I do!" Mrs. Bradford replies and smiles mysteriously. "I was looking for you to tell you, you can help with supper. HE says it would be good for you!"
"I'd be glad to."
"Well-in about five minutes I'll be starting ... come in then." With that the older woman toddles away. Melanie watches her; the woman is tripping every step, and Melanie wonders why she is not wearing the proper shoes for the country.
Shutting the door to the recreation house she walks a little further on to the smaller house in back. There is a large padlock on the door and no windows. Maybe it's an old outhouse, she thinks.
Melanie walks back to the main house and settles herself in the kitchen. She spends the next two hours clopping vegetables for the stew, rolling meat patties, kneading dough. As she is helping Mrs. Bradford she is reminded of the many hours she has spent with Matilda, her aunt's cook.
Matilda was German and very, very white with huge pink cheeks. At the lake where they spent their summers, Melanie would rather spend her time in the kitchen helping the cook than be swimming and playing with the other children. Her aunt used to be furious with her, but Melanie was quite stubborn about it. There were many days, during what should have been her vacation, that Melanie was sent up to bed early, before nighttime because she would not obey her aunt's orders to play. Since her winters were spent in total seclusion, Melanie wondered how her aunt thought she could change character so quickl.
"Play!" her aunt would say in the summer, knowing full well there was only one other family at the lake ... and there were no boys there.
Finally, one summer, she did as she was told. She remembered the two neighbor girls; she had a game they would play every afternoon. They would take off their bathing suits and put long dirty sticks into each other. She remembered how it hurt and how she used to grin and bear it. It was probably how she lost her virginity....
The meal finally prepared, Melanie decides to dress for dinner. She changes into a pair of bright pink pants and a bright orange top. These are not her usual colors, but she feels festive tonight; she has the feeling something unusual is going to happen.
As she reenters the kitchen the Bradford clan is washing up for dinner. They are all wearing the same uniform, blue denim shirts and dungarees.
"Why don't you tell the doc dinner is ready?" Mrs. Bradford suggests.
Melanie quietly knocks on Dr. Hornblown's door. "Dinner is ready!" she says and hears him answer "Just a second till I finish this chapter."
When Melanie repeats his answer to the motherly woman, Mrs. Bradford says fondly, "Just like my Malcolm. They're always with their noses in a book!"
As she sits there watching the Bradford boys, Melanie is becoming aware that they are all very attractive. As usual, the feeling makes her nervous, and she asks Mrs. Bradford if she can have a martini.
"Oh ... I'm sorry dear, all we have is a little cooking sherry," the Bradford mother says. "Would you like some of that?"
Melanie nods, and with the first gulps of sherry she begins to get a warm glow. "Ray!" she giggles, and all the boys turn around. She still cannot figure how to get only one's attention.
The heavy footsteps of Dr. Hornblown are heard, and the Bradford boys become very solemn. Mr. Bradford follows the doctor into the kitchen; he has changed into a dark silk shirt but is still wearing his dungarees.
As Mrs. Bradford carries the pot of stew to the table, she slips and the stew falls all over Dr. Hornblown.
The whole family jumps up in indignation. Dr. Hornblown has shrieked for the stew is very hot, and, for the first time, Melanie thinks that his voice is like a woman's.
"Addie!" the chorus of sons and husband shouts at the poor cherry-red woman. Then Malcolm Bradford goes to the cupboard and takes her large bottle of mineral water and begins to pour it down the drain.
Mrs. Bradford is imploring him to stop as the seven Bradford brothers are trying to clean off the very soft Japanese robe the doctor is wearing.
Melanie feels quite dizzy; she cannot keep up with what is going on. Why did Mr. Bradford empty the bottle of mineral water? Why is Dr. Hornblown still shrieking?
Finally, the vegetables and meat having all been plucked from his silken garment, the doctor exits quickly. "HE will never forget!" Mr. Bradford says to Mrs. Bradford who is desperately trying to figure out what to serve for supper.
"Oh diddleeedee," she says and remembers she has left over pork roast in the refrigerator. "Pork curry," she announces, and her sons look up at her confused.
Melanie's foot is being touched by another under the table. She plays with the toes of the other foot after slipping her shoes off. Soon the foot is joined by another, and she is giggling and winking above the table. The trouble is, though, Melanie does not know whose feet have captured her foot. All Rays are smiling and flirting with her, and soon her other foot is captured.
"Now lookahere!" Mrs. Bradford says, and Melanie's feet are dropped immediately. Mrs. Bradford is pouring a curry into a large round dish on the table. There is not much conversation during the meal. After the food Malcolm Bradford occasionally glowers at everyone from a comer; he is sitting in a rocking chair, smoking a huge pipe, reading a book, his spectacles slipping off his nose every few minutes. Mrs. Bradford is humming to herself as she cleans up pots and pans and silverware.
The boys' eyes are all downcast; Melanie has tried to begin several conversations to no avail. Every time she asks a question, no one answers.
Finally the coffee is finished and Melanie excuses herself to go to bed. The country air has made her very, very tired, and the good food has helped. She undresses and slips into her gingham bed and falls asleep almost immediately thinking that she was glad to be able to give her cunt a rest.
A dark face, heavily mustached appears before her as if in a dream. "I am Izario," it says. "I have come to save you!"
"Save me from what?" Melanie asks, resting quietly under Mrs. Bradfords' nicely ironed sheets.
"From sin! From SIN!"
"There is no sin here," she protests, turning over to dream more enjoyable dreams, but the dark face of the devil comes closer and closer. It looks like it is lit by an inner red light.
"Do not! Do not!" he warns.
"Oh, go away!" Melanie insists.
"I know. I know everything. I am from Mexico!"
"Please go away, and don't bother me!" Melanie pleads. Then inspired she says, "Dr. Reique, Dr. Reique, Dr. Reique," and the red man disappears.
"Ohhhhhhh. He's such a wonderful man!" she murmurs to herself referring to their leader. Then she falls asleep again, her little cunt at rest at last.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The next morning Melanie awakens to the smell of coffee and bacon. The sun is shining into her room, and she springs out of bed. Looking at the clock she realizes it is very early. What a wonderful place to live, she thinks as she dresses.
In the kitchen she finds the humming Mrs. Mrs. Bradford, drinking water again. She wonders whether they buy their mineral water or whether they have a well.
"Do you have a well on the place?" she asks.
"Yeahhhhh. What'll you have?" the woman asks, ready with a bowl and mixing spoon.
"Oh ... just some coffee this morning," Melanie answers; she is still stuffed from the day before.
"Uh! Uh! Doc says we have to build you up!"
"I'm not unhealthy!"
"Doc says you'll need your energy for tonight."
Oh, Melanie thinks, there's a square dance or some thing. What a wonderfully considerate man. Still, she is not hungry.
"I'll make you some pancakes and bacon," the motherly woman says and sets to it.
Soon Melanie is confronted with a huge stack of pancakes which she begins to eat slowly. She knows better than to disobey her doctor's orders.
After breakfast Melanie takes a long walk. Near the corn crop she comes upon a puzzling sight.
The Bradford boys and their father are sitting in the corn field, all smoking long pipes. The musky smell of corn husks fills the air, and there are thick clouds of smoke above each one of them.
"What are you all doing?" Melanie asks, surprising the bunch. She suddenly realizes they were sitting there with their cocks out, jacking off.
Splursh, goes one of the Ray's cocks, and Mr. Bradford turns to him and solemnly informs him he has no manners. Then Malcolm Bradford tucks his tender cock inside his dungarees and stands up. He is not too steady for he has been smoking corn husks all morning.
"Oh, Miss Melanie ... we were just trying to save our com corp."
"But I don't understand!"
"There is an old Indian practice ... any crop can be saved by ... hummm ... shall we say male virility!" he says sheepishly as he watches his sons tucking in their peckers.
"Oh! How absolutely marvelous!" Melanie giggles and waves to them. "Don't let me disturb your hard work."
She walks a bit further into the apple grove. The apples are nice and smooth. Polishing one, she wonders how it would feel. Melanie has not masturbated for over a week now and she misses her lifelong habit. The Bradford boys have excited her.
Quickly she pulls down her little panties and sticks the apple in her cunt. She immediately is wet, and the smooth apple feels wonderful. Where can I find a cock like that she thinks as she begins moving it slowly around her vagina's lips. Soon the apple has her moaning and she is coming.
My goodness! And they talk about sexual deprivation! she thinks, noting all the apples that are handy in the grove.
Putting her panties on again and shaking out the dirt from her hair, she circles the grove to head back to the farmhouse. It must be about lunch time and the apple fuck has made her hungry. Thoughtfully she has kept the cunted apple and begins to eat it. It is delicious, and Melanie begins to think that Mr. Bradford's Indian practice could be extended to female virility also.
A few minutes later Melanie again stumbles over the Bradford bunch. This time they are picking mushrooms.
"Addie needs them for her mushroom omelet," Mr. Bradford says, still smoking his long pipe. But now the smoke does not smell of corn but of another more musky scent. Melanie cannot quite distinguish it.
"Do you grow your own mushrooms?" she asks. "Isn't it dangerous?"
"It can be, but we have a mushroom expert from Mexico here," and Mr. Bradford turns to introduce the red man that had visited Melanie the night before.
"How can you tell which are the good mushrooms and which are the bad?" she asks.
"The holy ones. The holy ones," the red man says and points to a basket at Mr. Bradford's knees.
"Would you mind bringing these to Addie?" Mr. Bradford asks, and Melanie gets the distinct feeling she is not wanted and nods her head. Swiftly she walks back to the farmhouse.
Mrs. Bradford is quietly humming to herself when Melanie arrives. The woman takes the mushrooms and begins cutting them up. Then she washes them. As she does she tastes a few stalks.
Placing them in a giant saucepan, she adds some eggs and seasoning, then whips up a great omelet.
Soon Melanie is joined by the entire family. The red man has disappeared. "Where is Izario?" she asks Malcome Bradford.
"He is saving the mushroom crop," he asnwers and Melanie understands that the red man is in the mushroom patch jacking oft. She tastes the omelet and begins to giggle. Then she looks about her and all the Rays are giggling. They are smiling at her with their mouths wide open and full of omelet.
She swallows another large amount and somehow suddenly realizes that Mrs. Bradford has been drinking gin all this time and not mineral water. Giggling again, she finishes her lunch.
Looking over at Mr. Bradford who is eating the omelet slowly, Melanie suddenly sees him and his chair rising to the ceiling. She tries to warn him that he will hit his head, but her mouth will not obey her mind's commands. Instead a giggle comes out of it.
Melanie decides she wants some milk and lifts the large pitcher in the center of the table. She fills her glass but the milk does not stop flowing, and suddenly she feels as if she is drowning in it, a small doll in the sea of milk. With the greatest of effort she places it back on the table.
She gets up from her chair and somehow is very clumsy. All the Rays laugh at her, and she laughs back. As they try to rise, they too are stumbling and falling over themselves. There is an unspoken joke among all of them. They all look up at the ceiling where Malcolm Bradford is still eating his mushroom emelet and smoking his pipe. Then they look back at Addie Bradford who is sticking raw mushrooms in her mouth and giggling with each swallow.
Then the door opens, and the heavy foot of Dr. Hornblown is heard. Melanie looks around and sees the good doctor in triplicate. She waves to each one of the figures that are Dr. Hornblown, but he does not wave back. She tries to walk over to him but her feet are not moving.
"I told you I brought her here for natural stimulus only!" Dr. Hornblown is shouting at Malcolm Bradford who is still on the ceiling, eating his lunch.
"She has only had natural stimulus!"
"My dear Malcolm, Melanie is high," the doctor says.
"What?" Mr. Bradford yells. He cannot hear well, the ceiling is very high up.
"Melanie is high; she is stoned; she is smashed!" Dr. Hornblown yells back.
"Oh, yes. Izario will save the smashed crop next," Malcolm Bradford answers.
Dr. Hornblown grumbles. Melanie is frightened at his grumbling; she has not heard him ever grumble before.
Scratching his head Dr. Hornblown stands inactive. Melanie has never seen him in this dazed state before. She is shocked.
Suddenly Malcolm Bradford falls from the ceiling and lands in Melanie's lap. He has not hurt her, however, because he has just lost several feet and is now a two-foot dwarf.
His wife looks over, and upon seeing her husband sitting on Melanie's alp, comes charging at her with a large wooden spoon. Fortunately she misses her target and hits her son Ray the red head on the noggin. He falls over yelling, "Why is it always me?"
"Mr. Bradford, you must get off my lap," Melanie says solemnly, not wanting her hostess to be offended. "No!" he shouts.
"But Mr. Bradford, you must!"
"No! I want to save you!"
Remembering how he saved his crops Melanie feels very uncomfortable. What will she do if Mr. Bradford takes out his pecker and jacks off in the middle of the kitchen? Then she feels the steel grip of Dr. Hornblown on her arms.
"Come!" he says and Melanie watches as Malcolm Bradford take his tiny pecker out and do just that. "Yeohhhhhhh!" Addde Bradford is yelling.
This time she has hit Ray the brown-haired son who, as he is falling, says, "Why is it always me?" Melanie feels herself being lifted from the chair by her doctor. As she rises, Malcolm Bradford falls into the sugar bowl, pecker and all!
Addie Bradford makes another charge. This time it is Ray her blonde and blue-eyed son who, as he is falling, says, "Why is it always me?"
The good doctor speaks quietly to Melanie: "We must have some hours of contemplative silence before the activities tonight. Come!"
At that command all Rays still standing up, four in all, take out their peckers and come, at which point Addie Bradford hits them all on the head, and each one of them utters "Why is it always me?"
As Melanie and the doctor leave the kitchen Addie Bradford sighs. It's good to be alone with her family again. Friends are friends, but they do interfere!
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
As she follows Dr. Hornblown Melanie sees that he is very upset. He leads her to the recreation house. When they enter he bows his head.
Following his lead, Melanie waits for his instructions. He is silent for quite a long time. Then he raises his eyes and looks into hers. He is so holy, she thinks as she stares into his pupils.
"Now, Melanie we have work to do!"
"Yes?"
Taking her hand the good doctor leads her into the large love box. "I want you sit in that box and concentrate ... concentrate on your supreme sexual energy. Concentrate! Concentrate!"
Melanie sits in a Yoga position. She stares ahead at the doctor's face. She is having a difficult time concentrating for the mushrooms have made her talkative. Every time she begins to say something, the wise doctor shakes his head solemnly and puts his finger on her lips, silencing her.
Finally she begins to feel the love energy invading the atmosphere. Recognizing what has happened, the doctor gives her the following instructions: "Now concentrate, Melanie! Concentrate on your sexual energy. Whoever comes to mind, call his name out!"
"What for?" she asks fearfully.
"Do what I ask! Now, breath deeply."
Melanie begins her breathing exercises. After a few seconds of breathing her cunt begins to throb, and she begins masturbating. She slips out of her tiny panties. Yes, now she begins to breath easier.
She hears Dr. Hornblown's voice talking to her, quietly asking her questions. "Who are you thinking of? Who?"
Suddenly she remembers one summer at the lake when her neighbors had a young boy visiting. His name was Danny Dodding and he used to join her and her friends for the stick game.
"Danny! Danny Dodding!" she calls out.
"Yes?" The doctor is listening.
Melanie feels her hand being removed from her cunt. She opens her clenched eyes and looks into the brown eyes of a Ray. "I'm Danny Dodding," he says.
"You show me yours, and I'll show you mine," Melanie says automatically.
Melanie unbuttons the fly to his dungarees and his swollen member appears. He is large for a young boy. She begins to caress him while he is busy unbuttoning her blouse.
As she caresses him, his organ seems to be growing larger and larger. She is a little frightened. She is much too small for such a large cock!
"Love it? Love it?" he asks. She helps him tear her blouse off moaning, "Touch me! Touch me!"
Soon they are both undressed and are lying side by side. She is afraid. She remembers how she felt when she saw Danny's cock; it was the first one she had ever seen, and she was frightened of it. She remembered she didn't know what he would do with it.
Suddenly her mouth is on the feared member, and Danny pivots her around to mouth her wet palace. She feels his tongue in her, exploring, demanding. She is not frightened of his tongue and is glad it is not his cock.
She feels a tiny quiver ... her first orgasm. He comes in her mouth. Overexcited, he has not been able to hold his orgasm. She reaches out for him, but finds he is gone.
Then she hears the good doctor's voice, "Concentrate!" he commands. "Concentrate! Who do you see next?"
She lies back and thinks of Tab Cunningham, the soda jerk at the drugstore fountain in her hometown. She was fifteen and madly in love with him. She would go to the fountain every day, and he would make her large special sundaes with whipped cream gushing all over.
"Tab!" she calls out. "Tabby!"
Opening her eyes she sees Ray, his red hair shrinking, his green eyes sparkling. He is perspiring heavily and looks scared. She begins to undress him, kissing him,-saying, "Don't be afraid!" But he is afraid and lays back terrified.
But his fear has not traveled to his cock for as she takes his pants off she sees it is swollen. She puts her mouth on it, swallowing it all, sucking it. He moans. She tries to get him to put his hand on her cunt, but he is hesitant.
Just like Tabby, she thinks, so shy and so good.
She lays back a little disgusted. Why are they so afraid? she thinks. I was afraid but that didn't stop me!
She closes her eyes again. "Concentrate! Concentrate!" She remembers Peter Van, the high school football hero. He never used to notice her, but she dreamt about him all the time.
"Peter!" she shouts and opens her eyes. There is another Ray before her, muscles groaning. He kisses her and enters her immediately, fucking her madly and hard. She feels her hot insides reacting to the brutality of his movement. It is in further and further. He is grunting now like a savage, but she doesn't care. She lets herself feel every part of his cock inside her cunt and begins screaming, screaming, and soon his grunts join her screams.
Then they stop, she thinks it's over, but he begins again, grunting, fucking as hard as ever. She begins to feel her pleasure rising again, and he turns her over and inserts his cock in her ass. It is very hard and very long and presses against her heart. She cannot stand the pressure any longer and begins to come, screaming, cursing, wilder than before.
Maybe now, Melanie thinks, maybe now I will cross the threshold to The Big O! But he turns her over again, and puts his cock into her mouth, pinning her to the floor. She gags, and before she can do anything she hears a voice saying, "Don't be greedy, let me do that!"
She looks up at the tall slender Ray and realizes he is her fourth man, and her body begins to tense up with fear. She begins to protest.
"Relax, Melanie Adams, relax," she hears her doctor's advice. "Enjoy the freedom you have worked so hard for!"
She does relax, and soon sperm is squirting all over her face. She reaches for his body, but he has left her already. She does not know who he is.
"Whom do you want now?" Dr. Hornblown asks.
Melanie thinks of Clem, her college boyfriend. They were pinned, and they made love very tenderly, without much penetration because she was frightened. She calls for him and there is another Ray, sweet, sensitive, loving. He kisses her, holding her hand and tells her that he loves her. She reaches down and feels his member, and it is swollen with love. She helps him enter her fiery oven. They move quietly and silently together, he, exclaiming his love for her. Soon they are both moaning and coming with each other. Sounds of "Love you. I love you, darling," are heard. It was her first love, her first tender love, and maybe her only love.
She does not want to leave him but Dr. Hornblown asks her to dream again. She seems stumped for a moment and then remembers Buzzy Lambchock, the musician she met at her Aunt Charlotte's wedding. He was lots wiser than she and spoke in a monotone. She liked everything he said and wished she were older so he would be interested in her.
Suddenly Ray appears. He is standing up and reaches down to pick her up and puts his cock in her, moving her effortlessly it seems with his strength, up and down his member. Perfect timing, she thinks, and remembers he is a musician. Then she begins crying.
"Why are you crying, Melanie?" Dr. Hornblown asks.
"Because I've had too many men!" Melanie is feeling guilty, she has not counted but she knows she has had more than enough. Was it six? Seven? More than any woman deserves!
She is exhausted and doesn't think another cock would be able to get into her. She wants forgiveness. She doesn't want to be a bad woman.
"Who would think you're a bad woman?" the doctor asks.
"Tom!" she says.
"My father!"
"Who else?" he asks.
Ray enters the love box and begins to slap Melanie, but not for long because Malcolm appears and stops him. He pulls his son away from her and throws him out of the box. Then he looks at Melanie, his face loving and kind.
Malcolm is naked, and Melanie is weeping. He caresses her and speaks to her affectionately. He is kissing her eyes, her cheeks. She looks up at him, barely glancing at his body. His face is smiling and warm. She smiles too, feeling like a child of five.
Then his tender cock enters her. She lies there wanting not to have pleasure but only to give. He comes quickly softly murmuring sweet things in her ear. She clasps her arms around him, and caresses his balding head.
It is finished now, she thinks. I am free! But the door to the box opens once again, and she is surrounded by Ray.
They all make love to Melanie, taking turns, holding her in midair, constructing new positions, new ways of loving. Melanie feels very loved and is coming every minute. There is no stopping; as soon as one Ray stops fucking her, another begins. She is being entered from the rear, the mouth, and both ears; her hands have two cocks in them, and her feet are manipulating one.
It is the happiness of happiness, she is completely covered with pricks, coming every moment, as she always has desired. But still no Big O.
Everyone disappears. She feels grateful but knows that what she wants can never be attained. Then the door creaks open again, and Dr. Hornblown is standing at the entrance of the box, watching, waiting.
"Are you satisfied Melanie?" he asks. "Is this what you've always desired?"
"I want more!" she manages to say.
Suddenly she feels very alone. She looks up at her doctor's face. He is removing his robe and his glasses to reveal a marvelous body. His cock is the largest she has ever seen!
She gasps with pleasure as he is down upon her in an instant, reaching into her stomach, her heart, and her mind with his big magnificent cock.
Her orgasm begins. Her heart is pounding so quickly she doesn't think she will live. She remembers another time when she thought the same thing ... it was the time under LSD!
Her body is going to break into little pieces she fears and remembers that time it did. She is coming now to the doctor's command: "Come! Come! Come!" and she fulfills each of his commands. After what seems an eternity her face is on the ground, her heart on the ceiling; her arms and legs are forming a sculpture in one corner, she has completely disintegrated her old body and may not invent any new one she wants. It is The Big O at last! and suddenly she understands what it is!
Her doctor picks her up and carries her out of the house, back to the farmhouse, and to her bedroom. "Sleep, my dear," he commands. "When you awaken you will be a new Melanie!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Melanie's dreams are of carnivals, ice cream parlors, black masses, light shows, homemade pies, and, mostly, men, many different kind of men, all beautiful.
When she wakes she jumps up from bed and stands in front of the mirror. As she looks at her body she realizes it is a new body, still showing the pink flush of sexual energy. Melanie sighs. She is fulfilled as never before!
A knock on the door introduces Mrs. Bradford with a breakfast tray. She motions to the flowers in a small vase. They are yellow daffodils.
"HE sent them!" she says. "And HE told us the good news!"
Melanie is too sleepy and happy to discuss it with her. She pours a cup of strong coffee and eats her pancakes. She is famished. As she finishes her breakfast, Dr. Hornblown enters the room.
Melanie smiles at him, radiant and happy. She has never felt this way before. "Good morning, Melanie," he says, "How's my girl?"
"Oh, wonderful, doctor! Wonderful! I guess my treatment is completed now, doctor," she says.
"Call me Arthur!"
"Arthur!" she repeats, feeling the exchange too informal.
"Melanie, now that you've attained the highest point of sexual freedom, do you wish to help in my struggle to free all human beings for this ultimate of pleasures?"
"But what can I do?"
"I've had a plan for years, to begin a sexual freedom community somewhere in the country, for people to come to on weekends, on their vacations ... to learn ... to feel ... to study!"
"But what can I teach? I am not trained in psycho-"
He stopped her. "I want you to marry me, and together we'll be the source of hope and inspiration to our students!"
Melanie began crying; she knew he was right. One could not really have pleasure selfishly, one had to share it-with the whole world!
"I've always wanted to get married again, Arthur," she said shyly.
